Shooter
by abdola
Summary: AU: Loosely based on the film Shooter. Art Student Kurosaki Ichigo's life changes drastically when he meets 'on the run' sniper Hitsugaya Toushiro. How can Ichigo clear this innocent Sniper's name? Rated M for a reason.
1. Prologue

_**Well then, here's to my second fanfiction! **_

_**In case you don't know or don't notice, this story (Mainly the prologue) is going to be quite heavily based on the film '**_**Shooter'**_**, but I am going to change quite a bit so I'm not completely copying the film. There will be differences in plotlines and characters and when characters meet and of course… some all important SMUT!**_

_**But the smut comes later.**_

_**(Also, don't worry that Tōshirō sounds a bit OOC, there is a perfectly good reason for it)**_

_**This particular chapter was written to Citizen Soldier by 3 Doors Down. **_

_**And finally before I start, this fiction has a front cover: http:/ darkholymagic . deviantart . com / gallery / # / d4ccbhk**_

_**NOTE: There are some military terms here, so I am putting a glossary at the end.**_

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><p><em><strong>Prologue<strong>_

_It hurts…_

_Who knew such pain could course through my body. This is wrong – I was trained to cope with this kind of agony._

_So why does it hurt so much?_

Something about the agonisingly gentle zephyr put me on edge. Maybe it was how it barely made the foliage on my Ghillie suit* move… or how it was likely to send this particular bullet veering off course and miss the _Heinz Beanz_ can I'd meticulously placed half a kilometre away – I didn't know. All that mattered was my wandering mind was already becoming jaded and I absentmindedly twitched my finger towards the trigger. Sam let out a warning bark next to me, sensing my agitation. With an imperceptible sigh, I shrugged the camouflaged suit off my back and reached back to pull the loyal St. Bernard to my side. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and he panted heavily, drooling slightly on my shoulder. I gave him a rough rub on the head with my fist and chuckled to myself when he let out an indignant whine.

"Yeah yeah, sorry lad," I muttered to him. Abandoning the rifle, I moved to pull him onto my lap. Not that it particularly worked, seeing as he dwarfed me by a good foot when I was sat cross-legged like this. I scratched his chest and rubbed his belly; the only two signs of appeasement and affection I knew how to give him.

"Whaddya' think they're doing here then, eh boy?" I cooed condescendingly. I couldn't help fussing like a mother hen around Sam – he was what you'd call… dopey. He reminded me of a hypnotised chicken – those that when you drew a line of chalk in front of them they would just stare at it, mesmerised by this white stripe that had suddenly appeared in front of them. Not that I'd ever tried that; I wouldn't have known how to snap them out of the hypnosis.

"Ah well, shall we give them something to see, then?" I shoved him off my knee with as much benevolence as I could muster, then flipped myself onto my stomach and set up the rifle again. I pulled the Ghillie suit back over my body and positioned myself in front of the gun. Shutting one eye, I glared into the scope. After adjusting the lens for roughly seven-point-eight seconds, I was satisfied with the focus. I tapped my trigger finger on the stock*, already impatient once again. Sam let out another low growl beside me to try and keep my concentration.

"I'm getting there, Sam." After inhaling deeply and placing the crosshair over the tin of beans I finally allowed temptation to get the better of me and I yanked the trigger back - with possibly too much force than required. The reverberation that the explosion made was much too satisfying for its own good; sending a pleasant shudder up my spine. The juxtaposition of the blast, the sound of birds fleeing for their lives and the gratifying sight of beans exploding almost had me grinning madly.

"I'd assumed that the can would be empty."

The smooth voice seemed to be disturbingly unconcerned regarding the fact that it now had a pistol aimed square between the eyes. To say my fingers were dexterous would be an understatement. I'd loaded the ammo, cocked the gun and aimed it with deadly accuracy; and I'd only used two fingers and a thumb whilst calmly looking the other way. Even snipers need to be proficient with a revolver.

"It's no fun if it doesn't go with a bang. I think the tomato sauce just makes it look like I exploded someone's head, don't you think?" I left the rifle alone and shed the Ghillie suit once more, leaving it on the ground to dilapidate. The uncanny feeling that I wouldn't need it anymore washed over me. I stood and turned to face a familiar man. Unwelcome, but familiar. The man with the velvety voice faced me with such a casual stance that it irritated me. He wore a black and white suit that made him look like a penguin and a prim little bow-tie that only added to the ridiculous garb he sported. The tight blazer only had the middle button done up in order to give room for him to stuff his hands in his pockets. And even though his coffee hair was smoothed back, there was still a single strand that fell right down the centre of his face. I felt the resolute urge to snip it off. He was flanked by two men who looked equally as insipid. On his left, a black man who wore the exact same suit as his superior. He leaned casually on an overly flashy black car that I didn't care to name. On his right side there was a gaunt man with silvery hair that almost put mine to shame. His tuxedo was slightly less outlandish than the others'; he was clad in a simple blazer that he hadn't fastened, a reputable black tie (that actually reached further than his collar bone) and nice set of straight leg trousers. I took an instant liking to him; not him in particular but the fact that he didn't look like a clone of the leader. He was independent – I liked that.

"That was quite a shot you made there," the chocolate-haired man noted, holding up a small pocket scope of his own to show that he'd seen the shot.

"Hardly. I was aiming for the dot on the 'i'. It hit the centre of the 'e'." I brushed off the comment with a small shrug. I chucked the pistol away wantonly then thrust my hands in the pockets of my khaki trousers. They were comfortable slacks; I should've worn them more often. "Was there any particular rationale for your little visit here, Aizen? Because you know that I've cut all ties with the military and I don't very much appreciate your company."

Aizen chortled, pushing that irksome piece of hair out of his eyes. "Maybe I just wanted to check up on my best sniper and see how he's managing?"

"Your ex-best sniper." I corrected. "And no, that thought never occurred to me." I patted my thigh sharply and Sam came running, giving a supportive bark before settling down next to my foot. "So could you tell me why you wanted to disturb me? Me and Sam were just about to have a beer."

"Oh dear, Tōshirō-kun. You always had a bad habit of inebriating that poor dog."

I hated how he deadpanned. Aizen was the only person I couldn't read like a book. I loathed him for that.

"It's Hitsugaya-san to you."

He completely ignored that. "I have an offer for you."

"It's a no."

"So quick to judge," Aizen pokerfaced once more. He had such an austere voice; I wished I hadn't thrown my pistol away. I wanted to wipe that indecipherable smile off his smug face once and for all. "I'm sure you would be willing to accept once you've heard the proposal."

My mouth twisted into an uncertain frown. Yep, I definitely wanted my revolver back.

"We both know that you were, by far, the most accurate and deadly shot in the military and I am not ashamed to admit this. You put poor Kaname to shame." He flicked his hand back to point at the penguin-clone, who nodded slightly in return. "So that is why I require your help."

As much as the thought of Aizen complimenting me made my stomach turn, I couldn't help but glow slightly at the praise. As I looked at the man called Kaname, it was in my instinct to study him. He stood tall, but still shrunk whilst in the presence of Aizen. His fingers twitched anxiously towards his pockets every few seconds and his head flicked at every rustle of leaves, every shift in the wind. These were all things a half decent sniper was trained it – being perfectly aware of your surroundings all of the fucking time. I mentally eulogised him for this. Yet I could tell from his pitch black sunglasses and his jittery composure that he couldn't see.

"You, Kaname. Are you blind?"

His head snapped towards me. He hadn't expected to be asked a question. That was foolish. My opinion of him lowered. "Yes, Hitsugaya-gunsō*."

A smirk tugged at my lips. I liked that, although I would've preferred to have been referred to as 'Captain'.

"How is it that you can shoot? Do you have a good spotter*?" My words were quick and impatient. I wanted him to answer immediately, but it seemed to take him a good half a second to process the words I said. He was slow. I didn't like that.

"Yes sir." His head tilted towards the fox-faced man, who beamed back at me with a forbidding grin. "Did you not have a spotter?"

He questioned me. It wasn't his place to question me. Hell, it wasn't even Aizen's place to question me but he could damn well get away with it (as much as that infuriated me). My opinion of him dropped again.

"I am getting mixed emotions regarding whether or not I like you, Kaname. You'd do well to remember that," I deadpanned. My fingers made their way to the back of my neck and scratched it lightly. The sensation sent a chill down my spine, not dissimilar to that of the shiver I'd received when I shot the bullet. That was good. It meant I could feel calm when I wasn't brutally rupturing someone's brain.

Aizen pulled another furtive smirk. "Now now, Hitsugaya-kun-"

"Hitsugaya-_san_."

"Hitsugaya-kun-"

Forget shooting; I wanted to dismember him as painfully as humanly possible.

"- although you may have disjoined yourself from the military forces this does not give you the right to instruct my subordinates. Now that you are not in military ranks you do not hold the authority to give commands to any person in the armed forces. _You _would do well to remember that."

My lips pursed. Sam growled. We were both on edge. I contemplated sending the St. Bernard to attack the three people I now considered trespassers, but decided against it. I didn't want their blood on my lawn.

"I was merely expressing my distaste towards another human being; that is a basic human right."

He ignored that as well. "We would like for you to plan an assassination on the Emperor."

My eyes bulged. My pulse skipped. What? Aizen was asking me to shoot the Emperor? I didn't know exactly how, but Aizen was related quite closely to the Emperor Yamamoto; not to mention the fact that he was one of the Emperor's closest assistants. _Traitor, danger, kill. _The three words ran like a broken record in my mind. The man stood in front of me was infamous for his nocuous temperament – willing to sacrifice any particular person so long as it would provide him with the means to attain power. Yet, even with this murderous personality, he seemed to know no remorse. His only reasoning behind each demise he permitted was _'You should feel privileged – your death has helped me greatly.' _And it was this precise reason why I wanted to murder him more than any other man in the military. This was a man… a _beast _who used _me_. He used me and the one man I trusted for his own selfish desires. According to him and his subordinates, our deaths would have won the war. Because of us two, the other side was on edge – they were prepared for whatever the 'best damn sniper team' threw at them. No… if we were to die then their defences would weaken.

What a load of crap.

"Do you really expect me to help you, Aizen?" I snarled, grabbing a fistful of the fur on Sam's neck – more to stop myself than the agitated dog. "Do you not remember my exact words when I quit? '_Don't expect me to come crawling back because I ain't fucking buying it, Aizen. The only death that would bring about peace is yours.' _I still hold that promise to your name, Aizen. If the time and place requires it then I will shoot you. And remember, _I don't miss._"

Another forged smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Did you not miss that last shot?"

I bit the inside of my mouth so hard that I could feel the coppery tang of blood on my tongue. Sōsuke Aizen – master of provocation. Damn, he was good at it.

"The answer is no." My fingers unfurled from the clumps of pelt. Sam made another low rumble, but refrained from charging. He wouldn't move unless I gave a signal; the signal that I was a hairs breadth away from giving.

"I don't think you are so opposed to aiding me as you are to shooting the emperor." Aizen's smile smoothed into a tight curve down. His eyes flashed a dark chocolate that I didn't recognise. Something in those orbs glinted, but I couldn't tell from what. "We don't want to shoot the Emperor; we want you to plan an assassination so that we can stop one."

I tried not to show my surprise as best as I could, but the slight tilt of my head most likely gave it away. Preventing an assassination hardly seemed typical of the narcissistic senator, even if it were for a family member. My mind wandered to all the possibilities of what he could gain from this. How would stopping the assassination get me killed? It wouldn't result in a promotion for him, seeing as he was possibly the highest ranked officer under the Emperor himself. And even if I failed the mission, he would not end up Emperor. I didn't know much about hierarchy but I knew that the likes of Aizen would not be next in line for the throne.

"I… I don't understand…" I admitted feebly. "But you're wrong about one thing. I would shoot the damn Emperor – this country has betrayed me one time too many and if anyone is to blame it is you and that goddamned man."

He insisted on overlooking the latter of my utterances once more. I swear he was doing it simply to aggravate me. "You probably aren't aware of this, but the Emperor is scheduled to make an opening speech in Tōkyō City Centre this time next month. A few hours ago, the Information Bureau received an internal, anonymous transmission stating that there will be an attempt on the life of the Emperor next month. Of course, it would only make sense that this assassination would take place when the Emperor is out in the open and most vulnerable. We cannot contact the usual agencies seeing as the government has already been breached. The assailant claims that they are able to make a shot from over a mile away. I'm not convinced that this shot is possible, but it's vital to take precautions. So that is where we need you, Tōshirō-kun. You can make a shot at that distance, can't you? We want you to scout; tell us how you would go about it."

I caught my bottom lip between my teeth and chewed on it thoughtfully. It was an interesting prospect. I had no allegiance to this traitorous country and no obligation to protect the Emperor… no. But what interested me was the case at hand. It was suspicious to me; something felt off. It could have been the fact that Aizen could never say anything with the appropriate tone, but I didn't think that was what put me on edge. One month was a lot of time. If I were to forewarn the government of an assassination I would give them an hour – a day tops. Why the unusually long amount of time?

"You know what it takes to make a shot at that distance? Everything counts for a shot that far away. Humidity, elevation, temperature, wind, spindrift. There's a six to ten second flight time, so even the spin of the Earth makes a difference. The Emperor will be wearing body armour. That means a headshot at over a mile." I dropped to the floor with a grunt; crossing my legs and propping myself up on my arms. Sam mimicked me – he fell over in a lackadaisical manner and lay on his belly, his nose between his paws.

"Could it be done, then?"

"Depends who you have. Do _you_ think the person could do it?"

"We have reason to believe so."

"Then you've got yourself a real problem." I scraped the back of my neck once more. My fingers made their way to my temples and rubbed in slow circles. I most certainly didn't know anyone other than myself capable of making that shot – no-one alive, at least.

Aizen started forwards, causing both of his protégés to tense. Sam howled and I grabbed the pistol which was now in an easy reaching distance. I pointed the barrel between his eyes almost languidly, resting my chin in my palm. Aizen stopped abruptly, a quick flash of fear crossing his face. I smiled at that. I was always my scariest when I was calm. Who knew when my finger might… slip…

"Aizen I do hope you realise that you have no reason to be on my land, and your being here counts as trespassing in my eyes. I don't believe you have any documents giving you permission to step foot on my property, seeing as you only received warning of this shooting a few hours ago and I just so happen to live a few hours away from the Bureau. If you take one step closer then I shall have to be forced to shoot you and your subordinates, and there is absolutely nobody within a one mile radius of this house that can vouch for you to say that you weren't armed and ready to kill me." I cocked the gun, casually waving it from side to side, letting its aim pass over the three men. "I never liked the Emperor."

"I believe at one time you swore that you would protect Japan at all costs, from internal and external threats." Aizen's lips pursed in annoyance. I liked the fact that it was me getting under his skin for once. It was such a pretty face when he wasn't baring his teeth in a haughty leer. That look suited him. Annoyance painted over his face, hidden in every nook and cranny – I loved it.

"I'm beginning to tire of your presence."

"I don't want you to turn your TV on next month and see that the Emperor is dead, knowing you could have stopped it."

"I don't have a TV. Is it new?"

"I'm sorry?"

I stood up again, ordering Sam to stay on the floor. He whined in protest but complied anyhow. I couldn't help the grin that spread from ear to ear as I walked towards Aizen, still aiming the revolver for his head, and reached up to place my hand on his shoulder. The two men behind him strung a long line of colourful profanities and pulled out their own pistols. The black man aimed quite well to say he was blind, managing to point the barrel at a point between my temple and my eye. The other man with the disturbing grin was slightly less well aimed, only managing to point the gun at my shoulder. Aizen didn't train his men very well.

"The car. Is it a Bentley? New Continental GT? Oi, you – I'm talking to you."

The fox-face blinked incredulously at me, pointing at his chest as if to ask for confirmation.

My shoulders sagged and I sighed. "Yes, you."

His fingers curled around the pistol once more, aiming even worse than he had before. Now the gun was directed at my bicep. "Mmh, Eight Litre V8. Cost t'government a fortune." He was heavily accented to the point where I almost couldn't understand him. But the drawl suited him – it was sly, just like his visage.

I nodded thoughtfully, almost condescendingly, and then passed the pistol into the hand that was dangerously close to the senator's throat, hooking the trigger on my finger. Even if his face didn't show it, I could feel Aizen's shoulder tense with panic. With my now free hand, I dug into my pocket and pulled out a battered phone. I rarely used it, so it wasn't exactly in the best shape – but at least it had a camera. "What's your name, boy?"

"Gin, sir." The fox-face's concentration faltered to the point where the gun wasn't even aimed at me anymore.

"I'm not your best friend, Gin," I groused, trying to figure out how I turned the damned mobile on. After successfully discovering that you held down the green phone button, I held it up towards the car. "I want your last name."

"Ichimaru," Gin muttered.

"Lovely. Now, Ichimaru. Could you lift the hood, please? I like the look of the engine, I wanna take a picture."

Ichimaru tensed slightly, unsure of what to do. The revolver in his hand trembled and I could hear the ammunition clanging around inside. He hadn't loaded it properly – even if his aim somehow miraculously improved there was no chance it would send the bullet in the right direction. Aizen's choice of men must have drastically changed since I left; he hadn't even taught this idiot how to load, hold or use a gun. How pathetic. Gin shot an anxious glance towards his friend, who returned the perplexed gaze. They both kept the befuddled stare for a few seconds before Ichimaru finally lowered the gun. He turned to the car and pulled the hood up with somewhat difficulty, then turned expectantly towards me. I threw him a dazzling smile that dazed him for a second, causing him to stumble to the side and out of shot – just how I wanted it.

"This is… absolutely… beautiful…" I susurrated as I pressed the 'Ok' button. The flash of the small camera was a little too bright for the required job, but I ignored that fact. I couldn't be bothered finding the option that turned flash off, and besides – I didn't want a detailed picture of the engine.

"Tōshirō-kun…" Aizen muttered. Venom tipped his words, warning me against something. Not that I cared.

"Huh?" I turned to him, faking confusion. "Oh! I'm sorry, I never realised!" I removed the cold barrel of the gun from his neck, released his shoulder and turned away from him. "Would you please remove yourself from my property now?"

Sam barked happily when I whistled for him, loping to my side and stumbling when he finally reached it. I chuckled at him – as dim-witted as the poor thing was, I wouldn't trade Sam for anything. He was the kind of thing I needed, something for me to fuss over to take my mind off whatever disturbing thoughts I started ruminating over. But even if he was dopey, he could probably successfully undertake Aizen's profession, do a better job of it and still have time to play fetch at the end of the day. He could be as idiotic and slow as he wanted, but I would not have a stupid dog. He was smarter than most people.

"Look at this, Sam! D'ya think that we could save up for one of these?" I leaned down to show him the picture of the car, and we both stared pensively at the photo of the registration plate which was quite obviously fake.

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><p>The cool, damp air in the refrigerator was just what I needed to cool down my head. I hadn't realised it, but Aizen's visit had left me hot and bothered. It was a habit of mine to flush when I was irritated, or when I felt the inane urge to shoot someone. I rested my cheek against the inside of the door and shuddered at the prickle of hair on the back of my neck. I inhaled slowly, carefully; massaging my temples to try and prevent an imminent headache. Talking to people was bad for me – I was fine being the recluse I always had been. When the hot flash began to subside, I reached into the fridge and grabbed a large can of larger. With the can now pressed to my forehead, I shut the fridge and made my way to the table. I sat down on the splintering chair and rested my elbows on the chequered tablecloth. My fingers rolled the can back and forth over my forehead.<p>

Sam howled at me impatiently and scratched the already ruined table leg. I smiled at him weakly.

"Sorry, mate. You want some?" I hooked my finger under the ring pull and tugged it. The can made a gratifying fizz as the tab was pulled off. "There you go." I held the can to his mouth and tipped it back so that he could drink it. He graciously lapped up a good half of the can before I pulled it away, much to his dismay. "Leave me some, Sam!" I wiped the top with my elbow then took a dainty sip.

"What do you think then, boy? Wonder what it's like in Tokyo. I've never been to Tokyo; do you think it'd be nice? There probably won't be any beer, though. Tokyo's probably too posh for beer – it'll all be that Sake stuff. I never liked Sake much. Then again, they might have some of that posh beer… what's it called…" I tapped the bottom of my chin and stared absentmindedly out of the window. "Theakstons Old Peculier, that's the one. I'd be alright with some of that."

I reached down and kneaded the top of his head affectionately. "Whaddyaa think, Sam? You think you could tough it out here for a few days? Awh, don't look at me like that – we need someone to hold the fort." I grinned at him and massaged his ear. "It's deer season; you'll do fine on your own. I'll leave you some beer out if you want. You'll figure out how to open it, you're a clever dog."

He blinked languidly and rested his jaw on my knee, yawning despite it still being mid-morning. I felt the corners of my mouth pull up when I glanced him, already half asleep. I wasn't planning on leaving any time soon, but even a week without Sam would be pretty miserable. He was the only thing keeping me sane right now, the only thing that stopped the nightmares. It was ridiculous – I was twenty one and still the nightmares haunted me. I'd tried convincing myself it would be typical of any war veteran, especially from a place like Afghanistan – but it still didn't stop me from feeling helpless, from feeling weak.

"Yeah," I sighed after taking another mouthful of larger. "You'll be right."

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><p><strong>GLOSSARY<strong>

**Ghillie Suit **– A type of garb worn in military that resembles leaves and twigs in order to give camouflage in a forest environment.

**Stock **– The handle of the rifle.

**-gunsō **– A Japanese honorific meaning 'sergeant'.

**Spotter – **Snipers generally work in teams. The sniper shoots whilst the spotter analyzes temperature, wind, humidity, the target and other things that might affect the shot.

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><p><em><strong>Okay, I know that this chapter was pretty similar to the film, but I promise the storyline will be different!<strong>_

_**Reviews? I would be very happy ^^**_

_**And just to let you know, the rest of the story will be from Ichigo's POV. Also, what would you think if I changed the story to 3**__**rd**__** Person, rather than 1**__**st**__**? Would that be too weird?**_


	2. Chapter 1

_**Hi again!**_

_**Wow, I never thought I'd get so many reviews after just one chapter! It means a lot to me when you take the time to review (Not just because I'm egotistical *shifty eyes*) so I get really happy when people do review ^^ I also like replying to all my reviews, so that's something to look forward to ;D (Yup, I'm **_**really**_** not self-centred). **_

_**The song at the start is 'Over and Over' by 'Three Days Grace'. I'll ultimately end up using that song for a lot of fictions but I don't care. I love the song.  
>P.S: I went with first person for this story, I hope nobody minds.<strong>_

_**P.S.S: I've reached the part in the anime where Gin dies (*angsting in the corner*) so I decided to give him a nice role in this fic in his honour~**_

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><p><em>I feel it everyday; it's all the same<br>It brings me down but I'm the one to blame  
>I've tried everything to get away<br>So here I go again  
>Chasing you down again<br>Why do I do this?_

_**Chapter 1**_

To be quite honest I wasn't a fan of the heat. Whilst all of the other students in the lecture room were quite contentedly bathing in the sweet light rays that peeked through the blinds, I desperately tried to dodge them. It didn't work, of course, seeing as the windows were pretty big and the blinds were pretty small – but I could damn well try. I rubbed my forearm over my forehead then wafted the area with my hand. Even if it worked for the moments that I fanned myself, the physical exertion ended up leaving me warmer than I had been to start with; so I quickly gave up. I'm not sure where I'd gained this aversion to heat from. As far as I knew, I'd loved the heat when I was younger; constantly complaining even during the early summer months. I'd spend the day at the beach whenever I was given the chance and I was one of the only children not to enjoy playing in the snow. I don't know why – snow is a beautiful thing. It's white and pure and it cleanses things. Whenever it snows a kind of… calm washes over you. It's like happy rain.

I smirked at that. Happy rain – that was an oxymoron if I ever heard one. Rain was probably sad snow; that worked better.

I should have probably been listening to the drawling of my rather trite professor but that fact was unimportant to me. I was too engrossed in what I was thinking to really care about the tedious lives of dead cubists. The other scholars who were happy with the temperature seemed to be doing a better job than me at keeping their concentration on the particularly dull subject, but that hardly surprised me. To say my attention span was short would be an understatement, and the fact that the heat had given me an ear-splitting headache and all I could hear was a benumbing vibration only added to the problems. I rolled my index fingers around a spot between my temple and forehead to ease the headache.

Yeah, life was getting pretty dull. This whole routine was beginning to feel so mundane, even so early in the year. I'd eat, work, study, eat, sleep – maybe go to the bathroom at some point during all that… but there was nothing I could do to change that. Everything I did seemed to run on clockwork, but somehow it was easier that way. If I just went about my business as usual, it left no room for rumination. I didn't have to over think things, didn't have to contemplate all the _absolute shit_ in my life. I'd left all of my friends behind at High School when I decided to study at University. I'd decided to sign up for a relatively close place so that I could stay behind with everyone. Not that they'd had the same ideas…

The only person who lived relatively close was my girlfriend… but even that didn't seem to be working out now. It was Renji who'd made me ask her out. He'd said that it was obvious we should be together. I wasn't so sure, but Rukia seemed up for it so we gave it a go. Don't get me wrong, she was a brilliant friend. She was the kind of person who would be there when I needed her; a shoulder to cry on, someone to cheer me on – someone to give me a well deserved (and literal) kick up the backside when it was so required. Hell, I don't know how many people were jealous of me. I'll admit, Rukia was pretty and strong and everything you could possibly want for a girlfriend, but she wasn't what I needed. Even if _she_ was great, I wasn't the kind of person who could stay in a relationship like that. It was too… safe. Some part of me knew that I needed something dangerous, something with drama.

It seemed pretty juvenile of me to go on whining about how pathetic my life was. You could just say that I was just a hormonal teenager going through mood swings and wishing everything was more interesting and easier. But to be frank, I ceased to care.

The shrill sound of the bell dragged me out of my thoughts and my head snapped towards the front of the classroom. The lecture had gone pretty quickly. I glanced down at my notepad, stared at the mindless doodles and sighed. That meant more catching up to do. My eyes scanned the room to try and find someone I knew. I mentally rolled my eyes at the thought – I'd never bothered making any friends here. Instead, I searched for someone whose name I knew. It still didn't widen the search by much. My gaze eventually landed on a quiet, blond teen who was silently scooping his books into an oversized messenger bag. Trying to look as consoling as I could, I walked up to him slowly.

"Um… Kira, was it?" I tried, leaning on his table casually. He stared up at me for a moment, mouth creased into a confused line.

"Mmh," he mumbled. He then looked back down at his bag and resumed organizing the books into some unfathomable order.

I tapped one finger on the table impatiently. What was taking him so- oh yeah, I forgot to ask him. "Do you mind if I borrow your notes? I forgot to… um… write any."

He lifted his head up again and stared again. I blinked back at him. I don't think he realised he was being rude.

"Oh, sure." He dug in his bag for a second then held up a dark red notepad. Whatever order he organised those books in he must have done it well, seeing as he hadn't looked at the bag at all. "Can you do them quickly; I want to look at them when I get home."

I took the book from him and flipped to the pages of notes that were from the lecture. My brow creased when I saw five pages crammed full of barely legible scribbles. I could have done it quickly if Kira had written it neatly – it would take me an hour to even decipher it!

"Um… do you mind if I bring it tomorrow? I'm a slow writer." I scratched the back of my flushed neck and began to try and comprehend what the boy had written.

"Oh… could you bring it by my house once you're done then, rather than tomorrow? I need them tonight."

I glanced at him. "Oh yeah, sure, that's fine. Where do you live?"

He folded the flap of his bag down and slung it over his shoulder. The thing had to be twice the size of its owner. "Next to you, Kurosaki."

"Oh."

* * *

><p>When I first arrived at the University, I'd made a point of finding the most secluded, shaded area on campus so that I could sit there when I stayed behind. Thankfully, it hadn't taken much exploring to find a quiet area between two buildings that was conveniently shaded by a tree. It was quite a vacant part of the University, away from the road, so people rarely walked past the alleyway, let alone down it. I slid down the wall and sat cross-legged, pulling out my own notebook and placing it next to Kira's. I leaned on my elbow for a few seconds.<p>

"Damn, I have no idea what that kid wrote…" I groused to myself. It wasn't that the letters were inconsistent; they were just so flat and appeared to be written in some failed attempt at italics – an 'n' could be a 'c' for all I knew. With an exasperated sigh, I pulled out my phone and held my thumb over the number-pad nervously. This was hardly what I needed right now, but it was only fair. After mustering the courage to press down on the speed-dial button I needed, I held the phone to my ear. _Please be Yuzu, please be Yuzu…._

"_ICHI-GOOOOO!" _An overly excited voice screamed down the phone, part deafening me so I had to hold the mobile away from my ear to prevent any more permanent damage. Karin I could have dealt with… but honestly..?

"Dad, just shut the hell up a moment," I growled down the receiver.

"But Ichi-gooo," he cooed. I could only begin to imagine what carnage was taking place in the Kurosaki household. I heard clanging pans and Yuzu fruitlessly trying to convince her father to hand over the phone. Karin's voice rang out as well, possibly stringing some colourful threats Dad's way. He, of course, managed to ignore the coercion. "It's been so long since you've spoken to meee! How was Uni? Did you get any homework? When are you coming home?"

"Dad! Shut up! For God's sake!"

"Are you ringing me to tell me that you have proposed to Rukia? Did you get her pregnant and you're ringing me to tell me the good news-"

"The hell? Dad, what are you- Oh never mind… put Yuzu on the phone…" I nervously looked around. It wasn't out of the question that any passers-by could hear anything Dad said over the phone, considering how loudly he insisted on speaking.

"Aww, Ichigo don't you want to talk to your old ma- UWAH!" I cringed at the several thumps, bangs and agonized yelps that I got from the other end of the phone. There was a small moment of silence and then I could hear the phone being passed around.

"Sorry, Nii-san!" Yuzu's sweet voice made a nice change to the harsh sound of Dad's. "Karin's got Dad. What do you want?"

I smiled. "Hey, Yuzu. Do you mind if I come home a bit later, today?"

"Eeh!" I could almost hear the pout in her despondent tone. "But you come home late enough as it is! Why do you have to stay behind? You aren't in trouble, are you?"

"No, Yuzu…"

"Oh, no! Nii-san, you got expelled, didn't you? Dad! Nii-san got expelled! What are we going to do?" Several muffled whines of protest were clear, and Dad began rambling on to Masaki (Our late mother) regarding how his son didn't care for his education.

"Yuzu! Calm down, I didn't get expelled!" Maybe talking to Karin would have been better in the end. "I just have some work to catch up on."

"Are you sure?"

I chuckled nervously. "Yes, Yuzu; I think they would tell me if I'd been expelled." I instinctively glanced around me again. I could swear it had gotten significantly colder since my time in the sweltering classroom, although I was sure it had only been half an hour. I suppressed a shudder. Yeah, it was much too cold. It was probably the fact that this part of the campus never got any sunlight. "I was just ringing to say you don't need to make me any dinner. I'll get something on the way home."

Yuzu remained silent for a few seconds. "Couldn't you do the work at home?"

I blinked. "Huh? Well, it's easier to concentrate at Uni…"

"But Nii-san!" Yuzu threw me a bemoaning gripe. "You barely see us as it is! You're always in your room doing work and you don't eat and sometimes we just want to talk to you…"

"Yuzu," I sighed softly after she trailed off. "That's just what happens at University."

My attempts at reassuring her appeared to be in vain as a silent protest hung in the air for a good half a minute.

"What time will you be home..?" she eventually conceded.

I had to smile at the inevitable acquiescence. Yuzu didn't have the strongest of wills, so no matter how much she wanted me to come home at a reasonable time she would certainly comply with whatever it was I required. That was another thing that differed about us all – Karin and I could argue our way into oblivion whilst Yuzu and Dad would forfeit within minutes. But I had to come up with a reply, so I glanced at the time on my phone to try and think of a suitable time.

"I should be done by about six, but I'll go buy something to eat afterwards so I'll be home by seven at the latest."

"Okay, I'll see you then."

"Bye, Yuzu."

And then I flipped the phone shut.

* * *

><p>I'd managed to finish the notes a lot quicker than I had anticipated; an hour quicker to be precise. Once I'd figured out what each initial scribble represented, the rest of the pages seemed to make sense. With Uni ending at four and me finishing the work at five, I realised I had a good two hours to kill. I could have just gone home at that point, but something inside me didn't feel like dealing with the raucous Kurosaki household. So instead of moving, I opted for sun bathing – although it was probably shade bathing seeing as I point-blank refused to move into the open sunlight. I pressed my cheek against the cool stone of the wall and opened one languid eye to look at some small tornados with leaves in them. I think they were tornados – something to do with the proximity of the buildings redirecting the wind and making it move in circles, or at least that's what I thought. I never really paid much attention in geography. The dead leaves danced in rings, picking up whatever debris had been left on the tarmac. Eventually, the loop had become a gaudy array of crisp packets, bottle tops and other litter which had been left on the floor. No doubt the caretaker rarely dared to venture into this area of campus – he would have been cleaning for hours. But still, it was a homely place and if I cleared a small area of rubbish where I could sit it made for a nice hideout.<p>

Another strong gust of wind coerced its way down the passage and completely blew away (no pun intended) my little circle of litter. I scowled at it. Not only had it taken away what I was mesmerized by, but it also brought a breeze that was much too cold for my liking. It would have been a nice breeze had I been wearing a jacket, but alas – I was clad in a simple shirt and jeans and the gust sent goose-bumps down my spine. Instead of dwelling on that fact, I decided that I was getting hungry and figured that I could always eat early. I didn't want to pressure Yuzu into making any dinner when I'd only just told her that I wouldn't need any, so a takeaway seemed appropriate. I packed the two notebooks away into my rucksack and slung it over my shoulder. I tried to stand up, but the damned bag weighed me down and I landed, quite ungracefully, on my rear end. With another annoyed grimace, I ditched the bag, clambered to my feet and then donned the rucksack once more. It was beyond me why I needed so many books for a degree in art – I hadn't anticipated that we would have to study techniques and artists; I'd just assumed we would spend most of the time drawing or painting. When I'd gone in on the first day, armed with a pencil and a sketch pad, I'd returned with some five textbooks and a monster folder which hadn't fit in my bag. It was hardly what I predicted. Sure, if I wanted to draw it might have been better if I'd read the course content rather than apply for the first course that said 'Art' in the name, but where was the spontaneity in that?

Not trying to sound narcissistic or anything but I was quite a gifted artist, I pondered as I walked. In my younger days, whenever I was urgently trying to escape the cold weather I would sit in my room and doodle. It was nothing special, just some little scribbles that vaguely resembled objects. I never realised what I was drawing, of course – I just happened to be looking at something as I sketched and when I looked down it almost denoted said entity. I would spend a lot of time in my room, just trying to draw different things. Once I was confident enough, I worked up the courage to show our mother the pictures. She said they were wonderful, clasping her hands and then tousling my hair. She asked if I would be so kind as to draw her, so I agreed. And thus began my obsession with drawing my mother. She was… beautiful – but even that would be insulting. As I continued to draw her, I noticed certain features which made her appealing. She had soft eyes which were, ultimately, impossible to draw and she had a quaint, little nose which was perfectly centred in her face. Her lips were full, but not too big. I don't think I was just saying this because she was my mother, for I knew plenty of people who told me how attractive she was. No, I made it my life's goal to capture this absolute beauty. It was quite funny – every week I would churn out ever more sketches of my mother like a broken photocopier. I never cared to improve, for my ignorant eyes would pass over each mistake I'd make without doubt. It was only when I looked back on sketches from months ago that I would realise what progress I had made. So I continued to draw them. Mum organised them in a little folder, ordered by date so that it made a small timeline of how I improved. But then, when I was thirteen, the folder ceased to grow. It lay, gathering dust, rarely touched by anyone. The one time I had gone to look back at it, I had ended up in a shrieking, sobbing mess that had to be dragged out of the room by my father. I didn't stop drawing - I would never stop drawing. No, the folder never developed because I had lost my model.

I had never captured her beauty. And that fact hurt. _Bad._

My drawings had become much darker, much more malevolentfrom that point on. The red colouring pencil became a frequent occupant of my grip and was well acquainted with a black biro. The two worked in harmony to form macabre drawings that generally consisted of eagles, skulls, knives and other objects that denoted some gruesome demise. To say Dad was worried was a grave understatement. He tried to get me into some team sports like Football, hoping that I would become more sociable and visit my friends again. Even with my ignorance I could see that Dad was hurting, so I complied to save his feelings. I would attend some sports club once a week, patently ignore every other child in the stupid guild then go home and tell Dad how well I got on with everybody. My plan was flawed, in that Dad wondered why I wasn't talking to these so-called 'best friends' outside of football, but I skilfully dodged most of these conversations.

Too stuck in my thoughts to be remotely aware of my surroundings, I was probably on the floor for a couple of seconds before I realised I had walked into someone. The inane numbers of textbooks were sprawled on the asphalt next to me, surrounded by a vibrant selection of pens and pencils. The zip on my bag had broken, so only a few pencil-sharpenings remained in the toppled over rucksack.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" I cried, a nuance of distress tipping the words. Damn, that would take a while to clean up.

"No problem," a husky voice muttered. From the rough tone, I expected the man to have left by the time I'd packed up my things, but when I glanced out of the corner of my eye I could still see a pair of chequered converse and faded jeans in the place where I had fallen. I assumed he was waiting to help me up, so once I'd scraped all of the crap back into the bag, I turned to look up at him.

_Well this is new,_ I thought sardonically.

The barrel of a gun is an interesting sight, especially when it is aimed square between your eyes. I'd never played _Call of Duty_ or anything of the sort, but I was pretty certain being shot in the head killed you. Right now, I was on the brink of death. An unstable man behind a gun could pull the trigger at any moment; and I assumed that most people with guns were quite unstable. But there was one problem. I was finding it hard to feel in any type of instant peril. Why?

Because I wasn't looking at the gun; I was staring at its owner. My eyes trailed from the lithe hand that curled around the handle of the revolver, up a sinewy arm and landed on a face - a face that was too gorgeous for its own good. Lips were pursed in a thoughtful manner, and they moved from side to side every few seconds as though he were contemplating something. His eyes were a dark teal and their gaze burned a hole right through me. He wasn't glaring, nor was he staring with benevolence - it was a pure deadpan worthy of a champion poker player. If any emotion managed to force its way to the surface then it would be one of pain, for his thin brows were knitted together in not quite a scowl, but a look of restraint. The most notable thing about his visage was the hair. His current hairstyle appeared to be… well, there wasn't a style for it. The soft, white, gravity-defying tresses were flung out in any direction they could achieve, intertwining with each other into some kind of soufflé type style, except it was too tousled to resemble any type of swirl on a chocolate soufflé so I mentally called it an 'elegant mess' instead. He didn't appear to have much pride in his appearance considering the attire and frankly uncared for hair. In addition to the converse and faded jeans, he wore a simple, white top which was jacketed by a thin, again chequered shirt. Despite the obvious haste in which the outfit had been strung together, I wasn't sure the boy was aware how absolutely _stunning _he looked. But the one thing that struck me the most was that he looked young – maybe eighteen or nineteen – but seemingly small for his age. Maybe it was this thought that assured me of his mental stability; yet the serenity with which he aimed the revolver made me wonder. He didn't look a novice and he didn't look psychologically unsound. He looked like a young adult who was inordinately skilled with a firearm.

But then I remembered that analyzing his looks was not top priority.

"Do you have a car?" he deadpanned. The voice was so silky, so _dulcet_ that I almost whined at the sound of it. My (somewhat depleting) common sense scolded me. Now was not the time to be pining over the striking man… _man _in front of me. Yet I knew any attempts to stop it would be in vain.

I grunted a quick reply in agreement. My eyes had to be the size of saucepans when he lowered the gun. I hadn't expected that. He shoved the pistol roughly into his pocket then held out the very same hand that the gun had resided in. He stood, almost patiently, with his arm extended towards me to offer the help that I had initially assumed he would give. I just stared at him blankly for a few seconds.

"Why are you helping me up?" I managed. My voice was barely a squeak, hardly audible. Maybe to do with nerves, maybe because I was looking him in the eye…

"It's rude to borrow someone's car after they fell over and you didn't help them up." He broke the eye contact and stared at some point in the distance. I didn't think he was really looking at much, probably just trying to break the awkward stare. He then glanced around nervously, tensing as though he had heard something. He pushed his hand forward again urgently. "Come on."

There was no flaw in his logic. I grabbed his hand a little too quickly, a little too harshly that we both would have liked, yet his tone seemed to indicate that urgency was of importance. I hauled myself up then pulled the bag back onto my shoulder. As soon as I was capable of standing on my own he turned heel and left, walking down the street where my car was. How the hell he knew where it was posed a significant question, seeing as if he knew he wouldn't have had to ask in the first place. It then occurred to me that he would need the keys to drive the car so I hurried after him. Why I was being so compliant was already well past my comprehension; all I knew was that I felt a primal need to obey, to please this man and my instincts seemed to be following that with an animal resolution. There was a small niggle in the back of my head whilst I walked behind him, yet I didn't know what it was. As much as the fact disconcerted me, I was not at all bothered by the fact that I was willingly following this person who had just aimed a gun at my head a few seconds ago. So with that out of the question, what was my qualm with trailing him?

My long, rushed stride quickly caught up with his and I walked beside him, ducking down every now and again to get a better look at his face. His eyes seemed as determined to find this car as I was to follow him.

"Stop looking at me, you're acting suspicious."

The umbrage was a little too abrupt and impudent for me to take it without offence, but I still tried to shrug off the comment. I had no idea why I shouldn't act suspicious, but I assumed it was something to do with why the boy needed my shabby old truck and was unsuccessfully trying to hide his salient limp. Even as he told me not to look at him directly, I watched intently from my peripheral vision. He was hunched over in a way that didn't suit him, his entire torso creasing to the left. His hand twitched every now and again, darting towards his side. He had some kind of wound – I didn't need to be a doctor to notice that. I felt the pressing urge to stop him and examine it; to see what was making his face screw into such a grimace. Maybe if I was careful then the frown would smooth into a look of indifference. Maybe if I was really careful the poker face would curve into a smile…

I mentally shook myself. What was I thinking? I was referring to the poor boy as if I had known him for more than a minute. I couldn't help myself – he intrigued me.

"Which is your car?" His brusque voice cut through my thoughts.

I looked up and scanned the street in front of me. There were only a few cars parked on the side of the pavements but my concentration was shattered and I had trouble identifying which belonged to me.

"This one here," I eventually muttered and nodded to a scruffy, faded red truck on the other side of the road. He instantly turned heel and began to cross over without even looking. After glancing to check for traffic, I hurried after him. Even with the slight hobble, his step was sure. If it hadn't had been for me skittering behind him like Bambi on ice he probably would have looked completely inconspicuous. As we approached the car, I fumbled in my pocket for the car keys and pushed the button. The truck made a disconcerting sound that made me jump a few feet in the air, and it took a few seconds to ease the consternation and I realised it was just the noise it made when it unlocked. The boy slipped in quickly and quietly… and on the driver's side, much to my dismay. He hardly looked tall enough to be able to drive the car, but once he fumbled with a couple of the knobs on the side of the chair he could just about see if he craned his head. And when his neck was arched, it formed a _beautiful _curve which I couldn't help but examine.

I skittered around to the other side and clambered in with a little less grace than the white haired teen, but still managed to retain some kind of subtlety.

"Well done," he pokerfaced; a hint of patronisation in his tone. "You successfully completed the task of walking down the road whilst remaining inconspicuous."

Ignoring the thick sarcasm, I fastened the seatbelt and then held out the keys for him to take, dangling them almost teasingly in front of his face.

He stared at me. Those intense, teal eyes bore another hole right through mine. "Why did you get in?"

"You needed the keys."

"Why did you fasten your seatbelt?"

I grinned inwardly at the only remotely witty comment I could think of in response. "Even if you helped me up, it's rude to steal someone's car. My presence just makes it slightly more reasonable."

His lips pursed thoughtfully once more, but then he took the keys from me and started up the car. "I said I was borrowing it, not stealing."

I had surmised that the majority of the car journey would have been thick with an awkward silence, but I seemed to be wrong about that as well. The young kid seemed to be trying his best to fill any gaps between conversations, although I couldn't quite fathom why. The strain in his voice as he spoke only proved that he was unused to talking for extended periods of time, so why he was exerting himself to try and fill the silence seemed odd to me. The questions he asked were fairly general to begin with.

"What's your name, then?" was the first utterance he had dared to speak.

"Ichigo," I'd answered almost immediately. When he heard that he let out a low chuckle. The laugh bubbled up slowly, building up until he threw his head back and let out a half-strangled noise which I assumed was his attempt to hinder a laugh. His shoulders sagged and he grinned, shaking his head as if what I said was ironic. I didn't quite see how.

"I'm not your best friend, Ichigo. I want your last name." The words that left his mouth were too practised, and his eyes moved from side to side as he spoke in a regular rhythm. I guessed that the irony was that he'd met someone else who had given him his first name and he had responded with those exact words, yet why a repeat of this act would seem so satirical was, once again, beyond me. His humour was beginning to perturb me. He had a sharp tongue and a quick mind, and the tone in which his words formed seemed unreasonably sadistic. When he'd held the gun to me, there was almost no doubt that if I hadn't owned a car or anything else for him he would have shot me. In fact, it was a mystery as to why he hadn't shot me anyway and robbed the keys from my dead carcass.

"Ichigo Kurosaki. Could I ask for yours?"

"You could. Whether or not you would get an answer, however, is debatable." His finger tapped impatiently on the wheel and his soft expression contorted back into the one that screamed that he was in pain. I waited. I felt like I had him figured out, and if I kept the uncomfortable silence going for long enough then he might concede and bless me with his name.

"If you're trying to keep the silence going so that I will feel uncomfortable and tell you my name," he started, taking one hand off the wheel and reaching into his pocket, "then you are very much mistaken."

I tensed when the hand began to retract from his jeans. That, I noted, was the pocket where the gun was residing. I inadvertently shifted away from him a little, as though it would do anything against his indelible aim. His hand left his pocket at an agonisingly slow pace, and I felt my nerves sigh in relief when instead of holding a gun his fingers were curled around a small pack of cigarettes.

"You smoke?" I asked incredulously. He flicked the top off and took out a cigar. He twirled it between his fingers for a few moments.

"Only when I'm stressed." The reply came slowly, and he pushed the stick of tobacco back into the packet and shoved the box back into his pocket. "I'm trying to quit."

"I don't think that keeping the pack in your pocket really helps," I noted in a matter-of-factly voice. His eyes flicked towards me and his pained visage was replaced with one of irritation. He slowly brought his other hand back onto the wheel and then broke the hypnotic gaze once more. I blinked a few times. His eyes were so fucking _intense_, that just looking at them left me dazed.

"Tōshirō Hitsugaya," he mumbled. "That's my name."

I chortled a little at that. I stopped looking at him and moved my gaze to the roof of the car. I studied some of the labels that I'd left there but never really bothered to see what they read. It was all quite customary – don't put a baby facing the seat and fasten your seatbelt. The rest of the label had peeled off and was probably dilapidating somewhere at the bottom of the foot-well. Another label was completely in German, so I gave up trying to mentally transcribe it.

"I'm not sure why you were so opposed to telling me your name, Tōshirō. It's not a bad name or anything." I waved my hand as if to pass of the statement.

"You should refer to me as Hitsugaya-san, Kurosaki." The annoyance was there in his tone, but it was quite deep. I don't think he was truly irritated at me, as much as he might have wanted to show it.

"Really? I think we're on a first name basis by now, don't you?" My hands flailed in all sorts of directions to try and prove my argument. There was a lot of mindless pointing and waving going on. "I'm letting you drive my car, aren't I?"

The irritated tapping began again, but I could see his mouth twitch at the corner. "I would have shot you if you didn't."

I stopped my mindless waving and rested my hands on my lap again. "I don't think you would have."

His head lowered and his mouth gave in to the smug grin that was inevitable. "Men behind guns are quite unstable."

At least we agreed on something. I didn't have a reply to that, so I placed my elbow on the handle by the door and rested my chin in the palm of my hand. Karakura Town seemed so small when it was whizzing past you at fifty miles per hour. I saw some backstreets, houses of people I felt vague amiability towards - we passed the town centre where there were hundreds of people going about their daily routines, simply shopping or meeting up with their friends. I even saw a couple of my old high school mates hanging around outside of a shop whose name I didn't catch. They were gone within the second. I had to laugh – that_ would_ happen, wouldn't it? It was like my life was flashing before my eyes as we sped out of the town centre and headed towards the outskirts of Karakura. Everything I knew so well was flashing past me, and I was literally in the passenger seat; unable to do a thing to stop it. I had just done the most dim-witted thing I could possibly do – jump right on into a car with a person I had just met – and it was probably the most irreversible thing I had done as well. But with Tōshirō sat next to me, I knew he wasn't just a boy who wanted a car. He had some secret… some grave, _grave _secret which he had no intentions of telling me. I would just have to buck up and go along with the ride… for now. I wanted to know… oh, I _desperately _wanted to get to know this boy better. I wanted to know what it was making his face twist like that. I wanted him to be able to reveal that secret to me, even when that visage told me that he had never confided in anyone else before.

No… he was an interesting lad – and I vowed that I would get to know just why. Even if that meant leaving behind family, friends, school…

The realisation hit me like a brick in the face. "Oh _shit_," I swore quite dramatically.

Tōshirō's head turned towards me and confusion flashed across his features. "What?"

I chuckled, then placed my hand over my face and sighed into it. "I forgot give Kira his notebook back."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Well, I finished that at an unusually quick speed. That took me three days to write. Not bad, if I say so myself.<strong>_

_**But yeah, I'm updating SUPER quick because I might not be able to for a while. I'm only able to write at any speed whenever we're off school, and it's just been half term so I managed to write two chapters in just over a week. So yeah…**_

_**If you review I might feel more inclined to put off school work ;)**_

_**Okay, I have an exam to prepare for :/**_


	3. Chapter 2

_**Do you want to know something **_**really **_**ironic? For English we are preparing for a new film topic for our exam in December, so we were asked to pick a film we enjoyed. Me, being the little Bleach fangirl I am, picked Bleach: The DiamondDust Rebellion. Then, we got given the title.**_

"_**Pick a film and write a short piece of creative writing based on the film."**_

_**Long story short: I am being asked to write FanFiction for my English GCSE. WIN XD**_

_**The song for this chapter is 'Decode' by 'Paramore'**_

_**Nothing else to say so I hope you enjoy and review ^^ I'm so bad, asking you all to review when my reviews are terrible XD**_

* * *

><p><em>How can I decide on what's right<em>

_When you're clouding up my mind?_

_I can't win your losing fight all the time._

_**Chapter 2**_

I think I was experiencing a slight delayed reaction. The questions that Tōshirō was throwing at me were becoming more and more suspicious; I was beginning to doubt whether the boy was safe or not. He still kept his calm demeanour all throughout, his voice not even cracking when his face twisted in agony. His hand would jerk towards his pocket every now and again. Whether it was for the cigarettes or for the gun, however, was a matter that I could not decipher. His poker face remained unmoved as always, and that fact annoyed me. It _irritated _me because I couldn't tell what he was thinking. And it was this complete unchangeable expression that worried me. My common sense had begun to regain its place in my mind and I realised in horror that this boy was _dangerous._

"Were you supposed to be anywhere?"

The question was simple enough. "I was supposed to be home by seven."

"Where do your parents work?" His tone suggested that the question was somehow linked to the previous, yet I failed to see why.

"Dad works in politics, though I'm not sure doing _what_ exactly. He works quite close with the Emperor."

Something I said turned his head, and he paused to look at me. That deadpan smoothed out, and his brows curved down. His lips pursed so slightly… so deliciously. I involuntarily licked my own.

"Do you know a man called Sōsuke Aizen?" His tone was so inquiring and intense that I swore he was going to reach over and shake me violently if I didn't answer.

"W-well, yeah. Dad works with him." The need to shrink back from that intrusive gaze was there, wriggling in the back of my head. But something else, something stronger pushed another desire to the front of my mind– a desire to reach forward and touch him. I wanted to stroke his cheek, to rub the dark purple splotches under his eyes and see if they might disappear. My apprehension was melting away, fading into some unknown corner of my mind to die out. The boy was just _too damn gorgeous _for me to ever doubt him.

"Do not trust that man," he half growled and the moment was broken. His head whipped back to face the road and his grip on the steering wheel tightened tenfold. He could have indented the wheel if he put his mind to it, I had no doubt. When his hand shot out again I was certain it would go for the gun, but instead in made its way to his temple and massaged the area.

"But Sōsuke is-"

"A lying, cheating bastard who you should not put your faith in," he cut in with a snarl. The circles his fingers made were slowing slightly, movements less apparent until he appeared to just press the point.

It would be fair to say that Sōsuke was a close friend of the family, considering the time he had spent at our house. He and Dad got on well as far as I knew, and they frequently would spend time drinking sake together or simply doing things that I assumed normal work colleagues would do. I had spoken to him many times, and although his entire body screamed of stealth and deceit, I couldn't help but trust the senator. The way he spoke was too persuasive at times and it seemed as though he was a real life propaganda poster, trying to twist our thoughts to match his own – but I couldn't help but comply. His presence came with an unnerving yearning to fulfil his wishes. In that sense he was a lot like Tōshirō – with both of them I felt some kind of incessant need to gratify. But when I thought about it, it was the snowy haired boy who I trusted the most.

So despite all of that, I found myself believing him.

"Okay," I finally conceded, turning back to look out of the window. We were well out of Karakura by now. It was too late to turn back.

"What about your mother?"

His voice had settled down into its usual silky drawl. When my eyes flicked towards him both hands were back on the steering wheel. That notion made me feel a lot better. The question, however…

"I… she…" I searched the depths of my mind for some kind of answer. I didn't want to reveal too much to him. How odd… I didn't want to expose my secrets yet I expected to divulge in all of his. How arrogant. "I don't have a mother."

"That's good," he muttered under his breath.

Something snapped inside of me. _That_, I thought, _was a mistake._ "What did you just say," I barely susurrated.

"Pardon?"

"_What did you just say?" _The rage was clear in my tone. My chin that had been resting in my palm was now jutted towards him in the most threatening way I could manage, teeth bared along with it. I clenched and unclenched my fingers and my arm shook. Something resembling a snarl escaped through my gritted teeth, yet I made some strange strangled noise which made it difficult for anyone to take me seriously. But I was _fucking serious._ "Are you saying that it is a good thing that my mother was killed? That it was a good thing that her death was a bloody,_ violent _death that no-one should ever have had to endure?"

"Kurosaki-"

I was too far gone to hear him. "Are you implying that it was a good thing that it destroyed our lives? That we were all depressed for _years_-"

"KUROSAKI!" His voice broke almost pathetically on that last syllable. His arms had gone taut and he leaned back in his seat. He could have been clinging on for dear life or preparing to launch himself this way, but for the life in me I couldn't care less. My chest heaved and my head hurt slightly. Who did he think he was? He gravely insulted me and he expected to get off scot free? He gritted his teeth and continued in a low growl. "I was saying it was a good thing because I have very literally kidnapped you and having another parent on the scene would only make for more of a commotion. When you said your father was a politician I assumed that your mother would also be in some type of office job. A woman like that would be more likely to notice that her child was unusually late, and because you don't seem like the type of boy who would be exceptionally late without contacting your parents I then assumed that I had two hours after seven o' clock during which I could flaunt you around without consequences or people searching for you."

I stared at him blankly. His words were surprisingly eloquent to say he had spoken the entire utterance within the space of a few seconds. "O-oh…" I stuttered, twisting my head back to look out of the window. I felt my cheeks flare up in embarrassment. How had I not understood?

"I did not intend to imply that I was glad for your family's loss and I apologise if that was inferred."

"Y-yeah." I scratched the back of my neck nervously. "Sorry."

The two of us sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Glancing at the clock, the green LED lights informed me that we had been driving for two hours, yet it had only felt like a few minutes. I don't think the phrase 'Time flies when you're having fun' quite applied there, because I don't think 'fun' was the correct word. 'Time flies when you're scared-shitless-but-can't-take-your-eyes-off-the-gorgeous-boy-who-kidnapped-you' might have been more appropriate. And on that note, I wondered what he had meant by 'Flaunt you around'. It wasn't the best choice of words; could easily lead to misconception - especially in the eyes of this dazed little teen. In fact, there were a plethora of questions that I felt the need to ask him, most of which were completely irrelevant and would ultimately lead my (most likely) gory demise. The thought ran through my mind that it was hardly fair for him to ask all the questions and expect none in return. But then again, I had thought that very same notion. The simple solution, to me, appeared to be: ask him two very important questions and leave it at that.

If I was desperate for more answers then I would have to gain his trust. Not that _that_ was going to be simple.

"May I ask you two questions?" I finally asked.

"That depends. It is rare that anyone who asks for a specific amount of questions sticks to the number of questions they ask," he said apathetically.

"If I promise to?" I grinned widely.

He arched an eyebrow incredulously. His mouth twisted at the corner, and I assumed that he was smiling crookedly. Whether or not it was symmetrical didn't change the assurance in my mind that it would be breathtaking. "Oh, so you promise to only ask two?"

"Pinkie swear." I held up my little finger just to prove it. "What does it go like… cross my heart and hope to die?" The moronic grin was back on my face. I had no idea why I was acting like a complete idiot. Maybe something to do with the nerves, or the fact I was meeting someone new… or the fact that it placed a tight smile on his face that almost resembled the real thing.

"Go on then," he challenged. "Two questions, as long as I can ask you one."

"You've had your share of questions, you know?"

He hummed. "Just got one more now."

I sighed jokingly. "Go on then."

And what surprised me was that he seemed genuinely interested in my answer. "How old do you think I am?"

How old? I assumed it had to be a trick question. I moved my gaze back over to him and eyed him up and down, desperately trying to stop myself from mentally undressing him - to no avail. I ended up staring at beautiful, porcelain skin that stretched tight over sinewy muscles. It wouldn't have made him look scrawny, but more toned and lithe. But I tried to push the thought to the back of my mind and concentrated on his question. I wanted to give him a proper answer, something even _he _couldn't scorn me for. So I looked at his facial features. At first glance, he had quite a baby face. His eyes were unnaturally large in proportion and his cheeks had a semblance of fat lining them. Yet when I looked closer I saw the wisdom in those eyes, and I saw the high cheekbone and sharp jaw that all showed he was a man who had seen too much; who _knew _too much and had to live with those thoughts _every. Fucking. Day. _It occurred to me that he wasn't baby faced - he was pretty. And as much as it might have been insulting to label a man as 'pretty', that was the case. My eyes trailed back down to his body, and I noticed how short he was. Five feet would have been my guess, give or take a few inches. That was odd - I hadn't noticed the boy was a head shorter than me. I was probably too interested in that head to even discern the fact. It was this that made me wonder slightly. From his vocabulary, his personality, his absolutely terrifying sadism I had assumed he was in his early twenties; yet his height seemed to denote otherwise.

Then again, I had believed he would shoot me. Assumptions did not bode well with Tōshirō Hitsugaya.

"Twenty." The answer was short and curt. I was pretty sure I was close.

That crooked smile returned again. "Not bad. Twenty-one; you were close. You know, everyone says I look fifteen."

"I would assume that's because of your height."

He shot me a glare. "I am _not _short."

"Yes you are." I pointed out flippantly. "But you don't look it. You're in proportion."

His brow furrowed slightly at that. "What do you mean?"

"Only one question." I reminded him with a grin. I decided to answer anyway. "I don't think you'll be all that interested. It's all about the maths behind the human body. An average adult male is eight heads tall in proportion - so looking at you… you seem pretty proportional to me."

His features had softened. He blinked slowly at me and his mouth pursed again - except this time he was facing me and I could see the delicious pucker that his lips made. It then occurred to me that he hadn't known that. _I _had taught _him _something… and that, I noted, was something that I didn't think happened often.

"How do you know things like that?"

"I'm an art student," I admitted, as if it would explain it. Of course it didn't, seeing as he still looked confused as to why they would teach something like that at Art school. But I pressed on anyway. "But still, can I ask my questions now?"

"Shoot."

"Well, for starters… oh, I see what you did there." I sniffed at his crude joke, lips curling up at the corners. "But anyway. What is it that you did? Who are you running away from and why?"

"I see no reason to tell you, but seeing as you seem to be adamant on staying then I will have tell you later as it is a _long _story. Right now I have things to do." His face crumpled again. 'Things to do' most likely involved treating whatever injury he had. "Next question?"

I briefly wondered what 'things' he had to do, but that wasn't the question that was nagging in the corner of my mind. Something else pushed forwards, and it was the one thing I was most curious about.

"Why," I began, "haven't you shot me yet?"

His twisted grin began to grow, spread from the front of his face to the sides of it - widening until I swore it reached his ears. A low chuckle escaped his lips. Something was merciless about the bubbling noise, as if I had reminded him that he _should_ be shooting me and he was seriously considering it. His head flipped forward once he had finished, white locks hanging limply around his face. His eyelids lifted slowly and his grin turned nocuous.

"Beats me."

* * *

><p>The truck spluttered when it pulled up outside of a small, shabby convenience store. Tōshirō worked to make the noise stop by pulled levers and pushing buttons left, right and centre but nothing worked, so he turned the engine off. He sighed and placed his hands on his lap, visibly sagging in some sort of relief. Holding his arms up like that couldn't have boded well for his injury. His breathing was laboured, I noticed, and his chest heaved and shook with every painful breath he took. I asked if he was alright but he just ignored me.<p>

"Do you have any money?" He queried instead. When I nodded, he asked how much and I pulled out a 1,000 yen note. "That should be enough. Go in there and I want you to get a bottle of water, sugar, salt and any kind of syringe with a needle that you can find."

I nodded and hurried out of the car. I don't think he knew I heard, but the groan of pain was audible through the thin frame of the car. I cringed at the sound and scurried towards the store. It was quite a decrepit old place; the sign on the front barely hanging on by a few nails. The paint was chipped and offensive graffiti made up most of the wall's colour. Litter was as prevalent as leaves on a forest floor, the door appeared to be stuck fast - the only hint to the place being in service was the meagre sign that stated it (although the paint was peeling that much it only actually said 've re opn' ). It was the kind of place that you wouldn't notice as you drove past; your eyes would probably skim over it and pass it off as a derelict workshop. It was the kind of place where rebellious teenagers would spend the most of their deteriorating childhood years smoking pot and getting drunk, then puking outside of it to which the shop owner would completely ignore. It was the kind of place that the council was about to knock down due to low hygiene ratings.

It was the kind of place that didn't pay attention to the law.

So I walked inside, hoping my assumptions were correct and they didn't have CCTV cameras or the shopkeeper had some type of memory loss issue that would mean my presence was concealed. The door was just as stiff as it looked and I broke into a sweat just trying to pull it open. When it finally gave, it gave completely and I shoved it into the doorframe with so much force that it bounced back half way with an _inordinately _loud bang that only seemed to be amplified in the soundless night. I'd always known that dustbin lids clattered louder at night, but never knew just by how much. I tried my best to sneak in unnoticed but the door had shaken me. Being inconspicuous was not my forte. Not by a long shot.

I had expected the place to look like a bathroom in some illegitimate nightclub - white tiles with grime and blood between the gaps, cans of beer rolling across the floor, high adolescents passed out on the floor… but even if all of that was happening then I wouldn't have noticed seeing as the lights had busted. It was creepy, walking inside the pitch black place, but it gave me some kind of relief that I wouldn't have to worry about people finding me-

"Hello?" A voice called out. It was a cheery voice tainted with worry. "Anyone there?" It sounded familiar.

"Um… hi," I called back. "Do you have a backup light in here?"

"Yes, sir! Right away, sir!" The voice brightened up significantly and muffled footsteps thudded across the floor, then a door went and I assumed he had gone into the back. I waited anxiously by the entrance until the man came back holding an old-fashioned lantern. My heart sank and my eyes widened when I saw him. It wasn't just the voice I recognised…

"Terribly sorry there, sir! Forgot to pay the electric bill so all our lights are… Kurosaki-san?" The rough man's grey eyes looked deep into mine. They searched for confirmation that I was the person he thought I was… and god _damnit _I was.

"U-urahara-san! Y-you work here?" I stammered, stumbling a few feet backwards. _Shit,_ this was not what I had intended. Kisuke Urahara was a man I had once played football with, although he had been nineteen at the time when I was thirteen so he had to be in his late twenties by now. It had seemed ridiculous at the time, but he had constantly blathered on about how one day he wanted to own his own little shop which he would name 'Urahara Shoten'. It would be a small convenience store somewhere outside of Karakura so that he could escape his abusive parents. I'd always encouraged him somewhat indifferently, not really caring about the odd boy and his corner shop - but why did it have to come back and bite me on the ass now?

"Yup!" He grinned wildly and held his hands out to the side to show off his store. "It looks a lot better with the lights on, but I finally got my shop!"

I inwardly groaned. I'd forgotten how much he loved to talk. "Look, Urahara-san, I'd love to talk but I have somewhere to be…"

"Say no more! I have all your household items that you could ever want! Do you want some candy? Or maybe you'd like some magazines…"

I didn't like that insinuation. "Do you have some water, some sugar and some salt?"

"Right away, sir!" He saluted mockingly then scurried round the front desk towards the isles. His lantern swayed with the rhythm of his jittery walk and gave me a view of the goods. The produce was surprisingly neat, organised in a relatively neat arrangement that obviously meant something if you looked at it for more than a few seconds. I decided to follow him so that I could see what he was giving me. We weaved down a few isles until we came to a freezer. He reached in and pulled out a bottle of water, then handed it to me and tottered away to another isle. I fumbled with the bottle (he had given me it quite hastily) but then hurried after him. He ran back to me with two more items - a bag of sugar and a bottle of table salt. He dumped them into my arms before wiping his forehead with the back of his arm.

"Sorry about that, Kurosaki-san! I thought it might take too long for you to find them in the dark so I went and got them for you… is that everything?"

"Oh, sure that's fine. Actually, yeah," I tried to think of a way to say the next part without sounding insane… but failed miserably and went ahead. "Do you have any kind of syringe? Like, one with a needle?"

He stared at me blankly. "What do you want one of those for?"

I felt something catch in my throat. I had _no fucking clue_ why Tōshirō wanted those things. What could he possibly do with water, sugar and salt and a syringe?

Other than inject them inside of him…

_Shit. _"I… er…" I had no answer for him. "Do you know what I mean?"

With a sigh, he scratched the back of his head. "Do you mean a marinade needle?"

_I don't know! _"Sure."

Shooting me a worried look, he turned around and scanned one of the shelves until he found a small packet with a syringe inside. He placed it on top of the growing pile in my arms. I could feel the sweat dewing on my forehead. What would injecting these into him do? It couldn't be bad for him, could it? Maybe it would help him somehow. Maybe he was an addict? No, the thought never crossed my mind that the solution could be intoxicating…

"Kurosaki-san, what are you doing?"

My eyes flicked back up to meet his. What? I hadn't been doing anything. Sure, my eyes had wandered a little and I was fidgeting but nothing out of the ordinary. But then it occurred to me - What was I doing with salt, sugar, water and a marinade needle and acting awfully suspicious?

"Urahara-san… I know we barely know each other anymore but can you promise me this?" I adjusted my hold on the items before continuing. "Promise me you won't tell anyone I've been here."

Urahara sighed and led the way to the till. "Have you run away?"

I followed him. "It's a bit more complicated than that."

He rounded the countertop and helped me place the mound of goods onto it. "You aren't doing anything dangerous?"

_Can't say that for sure. _"Absolutely not."

"Then I will keep your promise." He lifted each item in turn and scanned over them with the lamp to find the price. "You're a good kid, Kurosaki-san. I don't want you wasting your life away doing something bad for you." He scribbled down some prices on a notepad and tapped the pencil on the counter as he tried to solve the math he had just written down.

"Just promise me, please?" I found a roll of bags shoved hastily at the side of the currently inoperative till, so I grabbed them and pulled one off. After fingering at the opening for a few seconds, I prised the aperture apart and pushed the items into it. He held his hand out for the money so I gave him to note, hoping it would be enough. Thankfully, a couple of yen were dropped into my waiting palm a few seconds later.

"Okay, Kurosaki-san. But can I ask… who is it that you are running from?" He nudged the shopping bag towards me so I took it. It felt oddly heavy, like the thin plastic wouldn't be able to hold all of the contents. I absentmindedly touched the side of the bag like it would stop it from splitting. I then thought about his question. How the hell could I answer that? I didn't know who I was running from, Tōshirō hadn't told me! He remained so damn aloof when I asked him about it; his face instantly drooping downwards in an almost caricatural way. I tried to piece together some information but anything he had told me about himself (which, albeit, wasn't very much at all) wouldn't form some coherent structure in my head. I had bits and pieces about him; nothing at all useful that would help me with what he was doing or just _who he was._ Taking a deep breath, I lowered my lids and tried to formulate some kind of conclusion. He was short, white-haired, young, inconceivably skilled with a firearm, twitchy, apprehensive, had some type of affliction… no, nothing. That was all I knew about him, but it wasn't enough. I tried to think deeper - tried to think of what I had noticed about him rather than what he had told me. Like I said, he was twitchy and apprehensive. But he also had deep eyes, eyes that saw too much. His mouth formed words that knew too much. His hands were constantly moving, whether it was tapping or simply holding something. Back to the eyes, they flitted from place to place almost incessantly, feeling the necessity to know what was happening in the surrounding area. From this I could tell that… he had something wrong. Something worried him and something grieved him every day - but they were two different things. He was a man with a complex mind that dealt with many things at once; many things that a boy his age shouldn't have to deal with.

And only more injustices were added to the pile each day.

"I don't know," I eventually admitted before starting for the broken door.

* * *

><p>I slid back into the truck and struggled to ignore the ashen-faced boy beside me. He blanched as I opened the door and paled when I sat down - I swear he turned translucent when I pulled the door to. His breathing had become jagged, hitching in irregular places and hiccupping in the rest. The dim stream of light from the street lamp pooled around his face and only highlighted the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbone. A dew-tipped head lolled to the side, leaning lifelessly against the headrest. His arm had fallen inertly onto his lap, not even bothering to clutch the side of his body that pained him so much. It was a sore sight to see. He was the vision of death, all pale and sunken-eyed. No… his eyes that were filled with passion and intensity just a few minutes were now hollow, almost looking pupil-less they were that dark. There was no way he had gotten that bad since I had left. <em>No fucking way.<em>

"T-Tōshirō, what do I… what do I do with this?"

Ignoring his face was impossible, so instead I scanned it feverishly to search for any signs of life. His chest heaved in response. I gulped and reached forward to touch my hand to his forehead. If he could have physically batted it away, I'm positive he would have. Hesitating for a moment, I searched his eyes for any sign of actual discomfort at my proximity. When I found only annoyance I pressed my palm against his brow. He gasped at how cold my touch was and I couldn't find it in my heart to blame him. He must have been forty degrees, maybe higher - stark contrast to how cold my hand was from the cool, autumn air. My thumb worked its way from the bridge of his nose to his temple, rubbing his skin with gentle, prudish strokes. I massaged light circles at his temple. His skin was slick with sweat, oily from pain and suffering. He whimpered slightly, so I hushed him and brought a second hand to meet the first. I stroked his cheek, almost cringing at how it burned the skin on my fingers. When my left hand had become warm from the fire of his forehead, I replaced it with my right. I worked my fingers in the most appeasing way I could, gently brushing areas of his face that seemed too warm. Eventually my other hand was lukewarm as well. I brought both palms down to the sides of his face and just held them. Even when he was as pale and sick as he was now, I couldn't stop myself from marvelling at his beauty.

Something resembling a contented sigh escaped his lips. He wasn't ready to speak yet; it still hurt too much. Instead he rolled his head around and nuzzled into my cool touch. The initial shock must have dissipated and could only have been replaced by a fresh sensation that cooled his fever, I surmised from his reaction. His shoulders drooped as he relaxed. His soft breath was regulating ever slowly, now just tickling the skin on my fingers.

I heard a barely audible sigh. "Mix… syringe…"

So he was going to inject them. I didn't feel obliged to deny him so I reluctantly released my hold on his cheeks and tore open the bag of sugar. I popped the top off of the water bottle and tipped some of the sugar in, then followed it with the salt. With the lid back on, I shook it vigorously to mix the solution. I hoped like hell I had done it right. Another pained groan from him hastened my actions and I ripped the plastic cover off of the syringe and carefully siphoned the liquid into the barrel of the needle. With the thing now full, I turned back to him and placed my spare hand back on his forehead. His breathing sounded bubbly again. I rolled up one of the sleeves of his shirt and pressed the needle to the milky skin… then paused. I was about to inject some kind of solution into him. Staring at the needle, I noticed how _wide_ and _blunt_ it was. That was going to kill.

He let out another non-committal noise that brought me back and I realised that he was probably in a lot more pain now than the needle would cause him. I pushed the syringe down. I cringed as the skin didn't give way, didn't cleanly allow the needle's passage. Biting my lip and stroking the silky locks that framed his face, I jerked the syringe down and it finally cut through the skin on his upper arm. Tōshirō's breath hitched oh so slightly, letting me know that it had _hurt._ I cooed at him, hushed him; told him it would be alright and breathed apologies every silence-filled second. It made absolutely no sense that I allowed myself to indulge in this kind of closeness to the callous boy who would more than likely show his contempt when he came around. Yet I couldn't curb my desire. I pushed my thumb down on the plunger and the liquid drained from the tube. The skin around the needle involuntarily twitched from the cold.

Tōshirō's had shakily reached for the syringe and pulled it out once the liquid had been completely emptied inside of him. He dropped it as soon as it was in his grasp. It clattered to the floor. There was silence. Agonising silence.

Then the breathing started again. It was regular; soft and so _fucking regular_ that I let out my own sigh in relief. His eyelids fluttered open and shut every few seconds before deciding to close for good. His lips formed some sort of word of thanks… then they slackened and his face fell. It became loose and perfect, free from that frown that seemed to be set in stone. His eyebrows softened and the natural upwards curved of his mouth took shape. He looked beautiful when he was asleep. In his exhausted state, he didn't even notice that he had rolled onto my chest and clutched at it as though I was his only buoy in this sea that was five fathoms deep - as though I was his only buoy in this suffocating ocean that he had to call 'life'. He clawed at my shirt as though without it he would drown; sink to the bottom.

It was a huge responsibility, but I wanted to take it.

A cloud of fatigue smothered me, willed my eyes to shut and sleep with him in my grasp - but I couldn't do that. We were still bathed in the dull light of the street lamps in plain view from the road. Whoever was after Tōshirō wouldn't call off the search because he was indulging in a few precious hours of sleep. I had to move the car out of the way into the shadows. But that was going to be damned hard with my current position. My leg was thrust quite painfully into the handbrake from when I had leaned over to Tōshirō, and the latter was pressed tightly against my torso (which was partly my fault but I didn't really dwell upon that face) and preventing any movement otherwise. I couldn't drive like this, no matter how hard I tried.

Tōshirō's nose nestled in the crook of my neck. I could feel the soft air grazing over my collarbone and desperately tried to ignore it. Thinking about his propinquity was _not_ what I needed right now. My arm snaked past his body and hooked under his knees. With my grip secured, I managed to lean back into the passenger seat; bringing Tōshirō along with me. He seemed relatively unperturbed by the disturbance, so it was safe to assume he was out cold. With him now safely sat on my lap, I twisted my lower body around and shuffled over the handbrake and into the driver's seat. It was a risky move and Tōshirō's legs would have smashed into the door, had I not moved my arm out of the crook of his knee and allowed them to flop down into the foot-well. He still remained comatose, much to my delight and surprise.

'_Now what?'_ was the question burning in my mind. Maybe it would have been better to leave him in the passenger seat?

_No way._ He was sat quite happily on my knee and I was fine with that. I moved his arms out of the way slightly and reached for the steering wheel. His legs obstructed mine slightly but I was okay with mine touching his. Now he wasn't holding onto my shirt he had begun to slide down a little, so I placed his hands around my neck and he unconsciously clasped them together. It was odd - even asleep he still had his instincts. When I was ready to start driving, we were intertwined in a way that was hardly platonic. A low chuckle permeated my grin. We were going a bit fast, weren't we?

I twisted the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. It coughed. My toe found its way to the accelerator and pushed slightly. We inched forward ever so slightly, then the engine revved and we crawled out of the parking spot and onto the road. I was much too tired to drive far, so instead of driving to the nearest motel I could find I opted for nestling the truck in a small alleyway where we were out of sight. I would have liked to have fully blamed my fatigue for the small journey when in reality, driving with the most stunning boy I had ever seen clinging to me was far from a simple task.

I killed the engine, shuffled back into my own seat for a reason I could not comprehend and quickly pulled Tōshirō into a more comfortable position. His hands drifted from the back of my neck to resting on my torso once more. A harsh shudder racked his body and I clutched him. The shivering didn't seem to cease - he was freezing. Of course he was. Fevers always came with cold insides and warm heads. Still holding him flush against my chest, I shrugged off my jacket and wrapped it around his shoulders. The cold, night air pricked my skin but I couldn't find it in me to care. Tōshirō huddled into his new source of warmth and I felt a slight pang of jealousy. The reason for my animosity was completely irrational - he sought consolation in the heat of the jacket rather than its owner. The coveting I felt towards him was foolish and illogical, but that too was a fact I didn't wish to dwell upon. When I pulled the coat around both of us, he rolled back into my grasp and I seized his small frame with a little too much enthusiasm. His cheek lay against my collarbone. His small, plush cheek rested against the bare skin of my collar - it was a thought that was too delectable to let go. I pushed my nose into the small white tufts and inhaled. He smelled clean, fresh - pure.

I felt something carnal rise within me. Now he was so innocent, so _uncorrupted _that I saw him for the boy he truly was. He wasn't tainted with that knowledge that swam irrevocably in the corners of his eyes. There was no pain on his face, no cruel wisdom; no need to hide himself from the outside world. He looked like the young boy he truly was and should have been free to grow as. In his dreamless sleep he wouldn't have to be agitated by whatever malevolent thoughts drifted through the canals of his mind. Something within him, possibly his heart, was too big for his body. He had a lot to give and no-one to give it to.

And I was determined to be the person to change that.

Lethargy was becoming a benumbing sensation that intoxicated my body. It flooded me, drowned me; it took away what little thought processes I was now formulating. The body that fitted snugly in my grasp only made the entire sense much more inebriating. I embraced it; not only the body but the feeling that it brought with it. Tomorrow they would be after me - _they_ being the police. And whether it was the police who were after Tōshirō as well I did not know, but tomorrow would not be safe. I didn't want to think about tomorrow. Tomorrow was a cloud that I did not want raining over today's sun.

After all, time was a luxury we did not have.

* * *

><p><em><strong>*phew* I wrote that entire last scene tonight! I've barely had time to write because of school and everything, so now that I found a night where I wasn't burdened with homework I turned off Skype and got cracking.<strong>_

_**Now I'm tired, but I want to post this so I'll edit it later. If there's anything too terrible I'll change it A.S.A.P XD**_

_**If you could review that would be great ^^ Doesn't have to be much, just let me know how I'm doing.**_

_**P.S.**__ I know it's bad of me, but I would really love it if you checked out '__**Shading Source**__''s '__**Thawing Walls**__'. It's a really great fic and it deserves more love :)_

_**P.S.S**__ I've been thinking about my next story to write and I'd like to write something a little… controversial. What would people think of a story about Gender Identities (Basically *spoiler* one of the characters used to be the opposite gender)?_


	4. Chapter 3

_**Gah, sorry it's been so long since I updated. I'm trying to write long and well and fast and this doesn't work for us poor Grammar School students x_x Barely getting any free time. But hopefully this chapter will be a lot longer than the others, anyway.**_

_**P.S. I forgot to mention last chapter… I'm British so I find writing the American 'ass' instead of 'arse' a bit odd. Anyone bothered by this? 'Ass' does suit the story more but I can't write it without mentally depicting everyone as Texan farmers…**_

_**I over think these things. I'm sorry.**_

* * *

><p><em>Find a place inside where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain<em>

_-Joseph Campbell_

_**Chapter 3**_

If anything had been happening outside, I couldn't care less. If my mobile starting trilling to tell me of my family's demise, I wouldn't be particularly perturbed. Happily drifting along on my cloud of lassitude that encircled me with its wispy streams of mist, embracing me with its benign warmth, anything not regarding what was happening right here and now was not of my concern. My back bent in an awkward place, my legs were cramped from the abandoned rucksack in the foot-well and my neck was cricked from hanging down on the snowy tufts below me - but the minor aches paled into comparison when I thought of the complete contentment I felt. I hadn't slept that well in years. No purple blotches would mar the skin under my eyelids. No headaches would ultimately split my skull. I finally felt as though I was thoroughly rested, thoroughly satisfied with my current body and mindset. I slid down in the seat and felt some kind of bone in my spine click back into place. The relief was instantaneous and I let a sigh slip through my lips, exhaling through my nose at the same time. The feathery tresses tickled the end of my nostrils and I barely suppressed a smile. _Of course._ I'd slept with Tōshirō on my knee. No wonder I felt rejuvenated.

My grip on him tightened somewhat and I rolled to my left slightly. The natural curve of my body allowed him to fit snugly into my torso, like he was bespoke for me alone. My chin travelled from the top of his head and down to his shoulder. I sniffed at his skin. It smelt rural - like grass and earth and herbs. It was a nice smell. I felt a stirring in my chest. My fingers reached around his arm and pulled him closer to my body, trying to tessellate the boy with me. I tried to weld him to my side as gently as I could. It still didn't feel close enough. _Ah well,_ I thought dryly. _Don't want to push my luck._ Soft sighs dripped from his lips, thin as water. The contented breaths were that prevalent that they seemed to be just his inhalations; but it was too _happy_ to be just breathing. Letting my eyes flutter shut once more, we both sank back into the soothing shroud of satisfaction where we should have been granted to lay forever.

Blaring horns and sirens were my wake-up call. The wild cacophony snapped me out of my listless daze, sending my head flying back to see where they were. _Shit. _

"Tōshirō," I whispered gently into his ear. I didn't want to wake him, not now. Not when he was so at peace, his face relaxed. But _now_ wasn't the time for petty indulgences. I squeezed his arm and held him closer for just one moment. He would wake then the moment would be over. I only had so much time - and I wanted to savour it.

"I know." The reply came quicker than I had expected. My arms tensed. He'd been awake. With much reluctance, my fingers unfurled from around his arms, only to have them stopped by another set of milky, lithe appendages.

"Tōshirō?" Incredulity was thick in my tone. How was he not mad, or upset in the least?

"They aren't coming for us. There was a fire a few streets down." His tiny hands curled around the jacket and pulled it over his shoulder. He brought his legs up to meet his stomach and pressed his cheek into the dip in my chest. Another sigh permeated his lips. "We have time."

How the hell was he so calm, so unperturbed by our situation? If he'd been awake then surely his mind was clear enough to realise that _they were after us_? We didn't have time to keep this hazy state of mind.

"N-no," I stammered, pulling my jacket off of him. His skin twitched at the cold. "We have to go."

His shoulders sagged slightly. With deliberate tardiness, he brushed his cheek against my torso and looked up at me. Then, very slowly, his lids lifted. A dark jade colour shot at me instantly, irises rimmed with black. Something feral sparked in his eyes, his pupils were dilated but thin; he glared up at me with panther-like intensity. An unreadable emotion pooled in his eyes; it was palpable in those blazing orbs, but I couldn't identify it. Whatever it was in him that changed, the animalistic gleam in his eyes piqued my interest. How the hell would I let go of him now?

"You're right," he drawled furtively. He rolled out of my grip and I clutched after him. _That teasing little bastard,_ I mentally groused. He clambered over the handbrake and settled back into the driving seat as though nothing had happened; as though I hadn't been embracing him like a lover all of ten seconds ago. I suddenly felt utterly _incomplete _without him. It was like when you had been holding a coat in the crook of your elbow - then you shifted it and couldn't find the warm spot where your arm had been. I felt cold and empty. He ducked down into the foot-well and fumbled around for a few seconds. I was about to ask him what he was doing, but he came back up with the marinade needle and bottle of water, sugar and salt in his hands.

"What is all that?" I asked, nodding towards the bottle and syringe.

"A makeshift IV." Dexterous fingers popped off the top and dunked the needle into the solution. "Trained in this kind of stuff." He pulled the full syringe out of the bottle and jabbed it straight into his arm, not even wincing. I had to turn away and cringe. It was still completely disgusting, no doubt about it. A sigh and frugal clatter informed me that he had finished and I twisted back to fully look at him.

"Where are you hurt?" The words left my mouth before I had even thought them. I wanted to recoil the hand that was reaching for him, but any attempts would be in vain. To my surprise, he simply batted the offending limb away. I'd expected something more… violent.

"Doesn't matter." He pulled several levers and the engine roared. "We need to go."

He pulled the truck out of our alleyway and drove premeditatedly in the exact opposite direction of the dissonance. Wailing sirens began to fade into a murky background noise, until it disappeared completely when we exited the rough town. I'd given up on trying to find out where we were exactly; I'd lost track about an hour after we left Karakura.

The silence filled journey was too much to tolerate. Tōshirō could deny it all he wanted; he could completely negate the fact that I had just held onto him with something much more fervent than a simple yearning to keep him warm - but I couldn't. Now I didn't feel the desire to get to know him, to brush that indelible scowl off of his face; I felt the complete and utter, debauched _need_ to hold him, to touch him - any moment we spent apart would have me swimming in pain, crying out in it. He was my comfort blanket, my last resort. It was the kind of notion that was ripped straight from some insipid romance novel that I didn't care to name. Something about a girl falling in love with a sparkly vampire the first time she saw him even though she was scared shitless - I don't know, I'd only heard Rukia incessantly blathering on about it. I'd always thought she was pathetic. _Love at first sight doesn't exist_; was what I had told myself. I knew, because I loved Rukia, didn't I? Love happens through sharing feelings and understanding each other, right? There was no way I could have fallen in love with a person I had just met who was so aloof, so mysterious, that I knew nothing about him, was there?

Glancing across at Tōshirō, I wasn't so sure.

"You know what you said about your mother…"

His quiet voice interrupted my thoughts. My head snapped to the side. His face was the picture of concentration. I was sure he was trying to watch the road, desperately trying not to look at me. I could have just been kidding myself, though.

"… why were you so offended? I wasn't being impudent." The last sentence he uttered sounded childish, as if I had affronted him.

But what did he mean, _why was I offended?_ Was that not obvious? "Because you insulted my mother. That is why."

"But why is that a problem?" His tone meant he didn't understand. He didn't understand why insulting my _dead mother_ would offend me. "Not that I intended to, but you would not have reacted that way if I had insulted another one of the deceased. Why is it such a problem?"

My lips parted slightly and I blinked at him. _What was he talking about? You can't be serious!_ "Tōshirō! I love her! She's my mother and I love her, so your insults do not bode well with me!"

That goddamned bewildered look on his face remained. It was as though I was trying to explain my theories on life to him. But then he said something I could not comprehend.

"So you love her because you have to?"

My jaw jutted out. I couldn't believe him. He was sick, something was wrong with him. He couldn't understand the basic human relationships of mother and kin. How could he not understand that?

But, I thought, I had said she was my mother and I loved her. To him, he would have interpreted that as 'I love her _because _she is my mother'. He was implying that I only loved her because I felt the obligation to; because she was the one who brought me into the world. She was the one who fed me, clothed me, raised me, sent me to school… saved my life that day. What if he was right? Who was to say I loved her because of _her._ What if I had never met her, if she had never been my mother? If I had met her through some other circumstance, would I still love her the way I do now? … Of course I would, she's my mother.

And it was my reasoning that decided my answer. "I love her because she was a kind lady. Yes, her being my mother was the reason I got the chance to know her and spend time with her, but if she was my mother and she was a horrible woman then I wouldn't love her, would I?"

His finger tapped on the steering wheel. He never mentioned the subject again.

* * *

><p>"I have a question…"<p>

"You have several, don't you?"

"You know me too well," I grinned sardonically. Another few minutes of unremitting silence allowed me to pick my next questions carefully. I trusted him now. I could ask more daring questions. "What is wrong with you?"

He eyes flickered towards me, glinting with annoyance and incredulity. "That's a bit vague. Care to expand?"

Oh I did. "You have something wrong with you - up there." I nodded towards his forehead. "I want to know what." I leaned back on my elbow, chin in palm, grinning madly. I felt like such a stud - it was laughable. "Insanity and sadism not included."

A thin, white brow arched and plush lips twisted. Well, his look had out-sexified mine by a long shot. He could make the most attractive man look like a beggar with a simple flash of his arrogant, crooked smile. "Might you be implying that I have some sort of mental ailment?"

"Yes." No point elaborating on that.

The tapping increased in tempo and he exhaled. "And here I thought I was keeping it well hidden."

My grin widened. Finally, I had gotten something right about him. Maybe I was starting to understand him, even if for just a trice. "Would you like to tell me what they are? You know if you don't I'll just keep nagging."

The thought of his grin growing cockier than it already was seemed like an impossibility, yet a slight slope in his eyebrows and a tilt down of his head proved otherwise. His lips twisted from side to side. He was contemplating whether or not to tell me; or, at least, he looked like it. It was more likely that he knew whether he would indulge me with the information or hang me out to dry; he just enjoyed toying with me. 'Sociopath' was one of the labels I thought I might grant him. "Alright then," he finally conceded. The tapping finger unfurled from around the steering wheel and stood erect. Next, he made a peace sign - two diseases. Then, with predetermined slowness, a third one straightened out. "ADD, Bipolar Disorder, Schizophrenia."

I blinked. Three? Bipolar Disorder I had guessed from his constant switch between mild arrogance and fury - but ADD? _Schizophrenia?_ "I…" I stuttered. "I didn't know…"

"Of course you didn't," he scoffed. "That's why you asked." The hand gripped the wheel once more.

I couldn't help but stare at him. For once, I stared past his lithe body, past his beautiful face, through those haughty orbs and I tried to stare into his mind. I wondered what thoughts coerced their way through the little wires in his brain; I wondered what each of those diseases looked like. When he had a flash of anger, did something in his brain tick? Maybe it was like a virus - working its way throughout his mind, then spreading to the rest of his body like poison. Maybe he saw sparks when the worm wriggled into his conscience, or maybe it was some kind of dull ache. What if it was constantly there, burning in the back of his mind as he constantly tried to suppress it? I wouldn't know - as far as I was concerned I was mentally stable - so I continued to wonder. What about the ADD? Did he even listen to me when I talked to him? I surmised that it took too much of his concentration to pay attention to the road and me at the same time… so why did he do it; how did he manage? My mind drifted to odd things such as oblivion and eternity, trying to comprehend wires and connections. The human brain is an odd little thing, filled with electricity and other little thoughts - so easily broken by something as small as an atom missing from DNA, so susceptible to influence; so easily swayed by malevolence and deceit. I wondered what had turned Tōshirō's mind.

As for his Schizophrenia… I didn't even want to think of what part of reality Tōshirō didn't find real.

"Your face just crumpled," Tōshirō noted. "You thought about the Schizophrenia, didn't you?"

"You're living in a fantasy world, that's why you're running from the police." I couldn't think of any other logical conclusion. Tōshirō had done something under the influence of his mental disorders and was now being punished for that. Schizophrenia made you hear voices, didn't it? What if a voice had told him to do something bad; something _dangerous?_

"I never said anything about the police."

"It's obvious."

He exhaled sharply and I saw his hand twitch towards his pocket again. His mouth pursed again and his face paled slightly. I was stressing him out. I leaned over and placed a hand on his, stopping its movements. His head snapped towards me and he shot a murderous glare. With those teal orbs penetrating mine, I never felt so at risk.

"No," I ordered. I would not let him smoke. And I would not let him shoot me either, but that was an afterthought. He couldn't ruin himself anymore than he already was. He had been cursed with those disorders and as hard as it must have been for him, he could not allow himself to destroy his body. More importantly, I would not let him. Not at all. "You can't smoke and drive."

The way his lip curled; I was sure he was going to hiss at me, or at least growl. He had to do one of the two. It was healthy. But when his forearm loosened, I knew he was settled. The ride became steadier when he could focus again and we stopped swerving every few seconds. I was reluctant to let go, but I didn't want to push him. I leaned back into my seat again and rested my head against the seatbelt. I suddenly felt tired, my fatigue returning just as quickly as it had dissipated. My eyelids shut and I willed myself to sleep. Silence - it's a beautiful thing when induced at the right time.

"I was in my right mind when I did it." His voice was too sweet. It was too sad. It was too _damned_ out of character to be Tōshirō, yet when I opened my eyes I confirmed it was him. "It'd be nice if I could blame it on the Schizophrenia."

"Why don't you, then?" I mumbled sleepily.

"Because it's my disorders that make me a good sniper."

If I were a dog my ears would have pricked. In fact, they did anyway. I bolted upright and stared at him. Whether he realised it or not he had just told me who he was. He didn't have to give the whole story; he didn't have to even expand on that. I just knew what had happened. Tōshirō was a sniper, a damned good one at that, and he had been ordered to shoot someone… only doing so got him shot as well. That was his injury - that was his secret. I had figured something out about him, something major, yet I couldn't find it in me to be happy. Tōshirō had been shot. Someone had shot Tōshirō. Someone had shot _my _Tōshirō. Colours began to bleed into a blackened red.

"Who were you ordered to shoot?" I asked in a grave voice. This was too austere for me, but I didn't care. How could I?

"The Emperor."

"By who?"

His knuckles audibly cracked when he gripped the steering wheel. "Sōsuke Aizen."

We both sat in silence. It wasn't awkward, but it was anxious. Tension snapped the air between us; palpably thick. Sparks flew and electricity crackled; feeding off our rage. His virus was spreading to me, only it wasn't irrational. I would kill him, Sōsuke Aizen. I would dismember him painfully, make him bleed; make him _suffer_ like Tōshirō had. I knew that my wrath paled into comparison to Tōshirō's. I wondered what shade of scarlet blurred his vision. Maybe it was tipped with black, the colour of blood…

"Would you tell me the whole story?" I needed to hear his voice.

He refused to answer for a minute. The sound of his teeth gritting made me flinch. My body began to sink into the seat when he sped up, the power of it forcing me into the chair. We were on a highway now, weaving in and out of cars at about fifty miles per hour above the speed limit - a velocity at which I didn't know my shabby old truck could achieve. Horns blared at us whenever we narrowly avoided cars. Tōshirō was a maniac; but still, caring was so difficult.

This whole experience was a bad influence on me.

The truck oversteered slightly as he pulled into a junction and we slalomed around cars, trying to avoid them. He was a skilled driver, I would give him that. Leaving yet another trail of wailing sirens behind us, we finally pulled down a narrow, country road and his driving slowed. We cruised along at a gentle forty for a few minutes, until we came across a metal gate that led into a field overflowing with cows and sheep. There was a small lay-by where my truck could pull into, so Tōshirō did just that. He drove in, then turned and drove backwards, and then in again… the whole process repeated until he had successfully parked in the space and his breathing was regular. A pitiful pat told me his hands had dropped listlessly onto his knees, and a sigh informed me he was tired. Rage wore you out, I would know. The silence came again. My gaze wandered to the outside world and I couldn't help but admire it. Although the dissonance of the motorway was still in earshot, the scene around me was perfectly calm, quite tranquil. We were in a small area of greenbelt surrounded by lush trees and _hundreds _of fields filled with more cattle than I had ever seen in my life. Karakura was quite an urban dwelling, so I wasn't used to this amount of grass. It was too green, _way_ too green. The monochromatic panorama was straight from a childish scribble with rolling hills and another curve for a sun. It was sad; I'd never thought such a landscape existed. But then, when I glanced back at the road, I noticed how beautiful it was. I'd always seen the beauty in metropolitan environments, looking past the pollution and noting how beautiful towering skyscrapers and rusty railings looked; always wondered about nature. Now it was here, I just needed time to adjust.

Then I looked back at Tōshirō, and knew why it was so picturesque.

"I'm a war veteran," he finally stated. Such sadness tipped his tongue. "Afghanistan - it's a horrible place."

My skull sunk back into the headrest. I hadn't even known Japan was in the Afghanistan war.

"We pulled out," he told me, reading my thoughts. "2002 to 2010; we provided naval support for eight years. That's what the public know. What they _don't_ know is that Aizen sent thousands of soldiers out to the frontlines; most of which were slaughtered within the hour. The only ones that remained were a few firearm specialists. It's a tough place, Ichigo… such a damned hard place to survive. We survived - me and my spotter. His name was Sōjirō Kusaka. He… we…"

His eyes had brightened slightly and I felt that green-eyed monster prowling in the depths of my mind again; snarling. Warmth was now curling around his lips. I could hear how he spoke about this _Kusaka_… I couldn't help but sneer the name. The name that the boy spoke so fondly of, it wasn't a tone that a person took when they talked of a friend. My fists clenched. It was stupid, but hot tears burned the corners of my eyes. Why was I reacting like this?

"He's your lover?" I choked. The words tasted bitter on my tongue. I wanted them off, out in the open; away from me.

Tōshirō nodded. "Kusaka…" Then the smile faltered. "Kusaka…" His face fell. His lips parted slightly, remembering something. His hands darted to the sides of his head and he clutched at his temples. His nails scratched at the skin of his forehead, leaving angry red streaks in their wake. His breathing became laboured again, but this time his eyes were dilated… they were wide open, tears streaking down the sides of his flushed cheeks. My breath hitched and I leaned towards him, hand stretched out, and called his name. He didn't answer. His eyes had become hazy, milky almost, and more tears poured from the corners. I think he was trying to say something, but his mouth could from no coherent words. The only sound he made was a slight choking. He hiccupped. His fingers began to claw at his hair, only to recoil quickly. He stared at his shaking hands with unseeing eyes. His fingers twitched, his palms trembled; I could only assume it was a panic attack.

"Tōshirō…" I barely susurrated. "Tōshirō, b-breath. Try to breath, Tōshirō." Like that was helpful - he was breathing too much. He was hyperventilating. I could hear his teeth chattering, even at this distance. His lower lip quivered as more tears rolled down his cheeks. I didn't know what to do, I felt useless.

"K-k-k…" He was trying to say 'Kusaka'.

"Shh, it's okay." I finally dared to place my hand on his shoulder.

He shot back like a hare, pressing his entire body against the car door; only to be suppressed by the seatbelt. He scrabbled at the offending strap fruitlessly, pulling it over himself and back on in his terror. His chest continued to heave and more tears fell. He was completely tangled in the seatbelt, half strangling and half restraining himself. He didn't quite know what to do with his hands, flinging them out in front of him then slamming them flush against the door. My hand recoiled, but instead of sitting back like I knew I should have, I instead used it to unfasten my own seatbelt. With that gone, I lifted out of my seat and tilted down to Tōshirō's. His mouth unhinged and he looked as though he was screaming; only no sound came out. No choking, not hiccups - nothing. I pushed the button on his seatbelt and it came undone. Tōshirō trembled sporadically before finally pushing himself into the gap between the seat and the door. No. I wouldn't let him. I slid my arms around his back and pulled him close to me. I whispered in his ear, told him I was here and I wouldn't hurt him. He seemed to ignore me, a bloodcurdling scream stroke sob finally sounded from his gaping mouth. His head twisted from side to side, rocking back and forth and still letting out that horrific shriek of a bansee. The screaming boy writhed in my arms and I held him closely, nuzzling into his neck. I kissed the base of it. He tasted sweet_. So… sweet_.

Then he bit me. His teeth dug into my shoulder with enough force that if it weren't for my jacket it would have drawn blood. He wasn't trying to hurt me - I could feel his trembling beginning to slow and I surmised that he was trying to suppress his cries of pain. My fingers worked in circles on his back, trying to be as consoling as I could. I winced as he bit down again. Even between the muffled sobs, I could hear him muttering something resembling 'Kusaka' over and over. It tore at my heart, tugged at something inside me. This wasn't like him; why was he panicking? My lips brushed over the back of his neck again, half whispering and half kissing the bare skin there. Then I felt sinewy fingers graze my back. They trailed over the leather of my jacket, dipping into the slope of my back. The fingers laced together and he hung onto me with such zealousness that it hardly seemed as though he was frightened any more. The trembling had almost ceased and was now an uneven shivering. He released my shoulder and simply laid his cheek there. His chest heaved still and his tears were sliding down my coat.

"S-sorry," he stammered, so quiet I could barely hear him. I simply hushed him for that.

"It's okay; you don't have to tell me."

I felt his head shake. "N-no. I-I want to."

I noticed that his legs were still half in the driver's seat, so I pulled them around mine so he was sat on my lap properly. Once he was sitting up on his own accord, the position had somehow meant he had shunted backwards slightly. He shuffled forwards so he could collapse on my chest once more. His entire body sagged into my hold, and all I could think about was how _damned close_ we were, especially in some… important areas…

"Just tell me why you're running from the police. Tell me about him afterwards," I mumbled into his collar. My fingers twirled around the snowy locks and the back of his neck. They were so soft. His entire visage was such a contrast to his personality. In fact, his personality was a contrast to itself - half the time a sadistic killer and half the time sentimental like this. I think his manic depression was changing slightly. The depression used to be his callousness and the mania was his dry persona - now the mania appeared to make him more… tame. In fact… hadn't he just called me 'Ichigo'?

He nodded into my shoulder. He waited for a few seconds to gather his thoughts, something that I assumed he didn't normally feel the need to do, and then he started. "I used to work under Aizen, but due to some… unfortunate circumstances, I left him and the military behind. Best damned decision I ever made - I got more time to spend with Sam. He's my dog. Clever lad, he is. But about a month ago, Aizen and some of his subordinates came to my house. How they knew where I lived, I don't know - seeing as I moved out of my parents' house when I left - but still, they found me and came onto my property without permission. They asked if I would help them with something." I could hear the smile in his voice. "You can probably guess I declined before they even told me what they wanted. Still, he asked if I would help them to plan an assassination on the Emperor… so that they could stop one. God, I was such an idiot for believing him. Why did I believe him…?" His grip around my back tightened again as he tensed, but still he insisted on continuing. "I went to Tokyo and scouted for them. I told them where I would have taken the shot from. There were two places, so when the day came we waited in the room that would have the best chance of getting a clean shot. I got out my rifle and aimed at the other building…" He took a sharp inhalation. "Aizen had a gun to my temple. He told me to shoot the Emperor or he would shoot me. Ichigo… I've never been scared; never. Afghanistan was a nuisance, and it shocked me at times but I was never scared. But when he had that gun to my head…" A broken sob ripped from his lips. "I don't know why."

I stroked the back of his neck. He _had_ been through a lot - too much for someone his age should have been through. "It's okay," I cooed. Trying to sound condescending to someone like Tōshirō was a bad idea, but at this stage it wasn't important. "Of course you were scared."

He shook his head. He mumbled something inarticulate, and then leaned back so he could look at me. His eyes were rimmed with red and looked crusty from sleep and tears. Even those jade irises looked slightly stained with scarlet. The entire orbs were bloodshot for too many reasons to count. He stared at me and I stared at him. My eyes searched his for some emotion other than melancholy, but they could find none. He perpetually looked at me as he continued. "I'm so selfish, I shot at the Emperor."

I cringed at that. My hands didn't release his neck, but I still cringed. He'd shot the Emperor. He had - he didn't miss. I turned away from him.

A wry smile tugged at his lips. "I missed."

My head snapped back. He missed? Tōshirō Hitsugaya did not miss - that much I knew. "How did you miss?"

"I did it on purpose. Shooting the Emperor would be suicidal, Ichigo; even _you_ should gather that."

He called me Ichigo again. He didn't call Kusaka by his given name, yet he was relating to me on a first name basis - we both were. I smiled at the irony of both our words. He tipped his head back somewhat as he thought of something, revealing the creamy skin of his neck. It looked so delicious, so absolutely ravishing…

"I didn't miss completely, though. I shot an MP… but that was enough for them to chase me. Long story short: I managed to escape, found you and here we are." His fingers tapped lightly on my shoulder blades.

"How did you get shot?" I inquired. I moved one hand down to his side and frivolously fingered at the fabric there. I didn't touch the wound, but I felt some disturbance under the thin fabric of his shirt - some kind of bandage.

He let out that dry laugh again, throwing his head back as he chuckled. His white tresses splayed across his face in several directions. When his lids lifted, the red that streaked the whites of his eyes had faded to a dull pink and his irises were a shocking green. He swung down and kneeled on the chair, towering over me. His nose was a few inches from mine, growing ever closer. His hands had slid back up to my shoulders and down the front, now trailing lightly across my collar. Another playful smirk teased at the corners of his lips. And those eyes… those eyes were _so fucking intense_ that I felt myself blush in my prudery. He was so endearing, so voluptuous with those pink little lips that breathed words to me. Why was he doing this? He shouldn't have been doing this, wasn't he still with Kusaka?

I paused at the thought. He had said that Kusaka and he had survived… but Tōshirō didn't seem like the kind of person to do _this_ when he was with another.

…

He had said Kusaka had survived the war, not that he was still alive.

"You really thought that bastard would let me get away unscathed?" he murmured, that ever nocuous simper still tugging at his mouth. "Come on."

He rolled off me and back into driver's seat, buckling his belt and starting the truck before I could even comprehend what had happened. I felt empty again; it was a painfully familiar feeling. The truck rolled out of its place and it finally occurred to me that we were moving. Ignoring the lack of warmth that I was now experiencing, I fastened my own seatbelt and sat on my hands nervously. My thoughts were filled with Tōshirō - of those stunning eyes, supple body and plush lips… I felt a stirring in my stomach.

"Where are we going?" I asked hoarsely, coughing at the end to try and regain some of my depleting composure.

"Against all of my instincts," he smirked, slamming down hard on the accelerator.

* * *

><p>Where we arrived was by far the nicest place I had been to in a while. It felt homely, even more so than my actual home. Half an hour (and forty miles of inordinately terrifying driving) after we had last spoken, the truck pulled up next to what looked like a field. Trees lined the border, each one pruned to perfection with the skill of a top class gardener. The rest of the field was rather bare, save for a white, two storey house that rested square in the middle. Tōshirō told me to get out, so I did. I rounded the truck and walked through the gate after him, admiring the house. It looked quite prim and proper, with white painted stone for the walls and an adorable little thatched roof. It was sort of like an old cottage, I noted; completed by the flower beds that were dotted along the front of it like patchwork. There were also hanging baskets and vines draped down the stone's surface - the whole picture made me feel as though it was taken care of by a woman, most likely a grandmother. Yes, it definitely looked like the kind of cottage that your grandparents had. But, when we were close enough, I realised the place was <em>fucking huge<em>.

Way too big to be a cottage - the place was a mansion!

"Well, he sure keeps the place tidy," I heard Tōshirō grouse. He thrust his hands into his pockets and stalked towards the manor, leaving me dragging behind.

"_He_? But there are so many flowers!" I protested and hurried after him.

He shrugged. "Ukitake-san likes his flowers." The phrase was uttered with such indifference that it barely seemed like the Tōshirō that had sobbed into my jacket earlier that day.

"Why are we here?"

He didn't answer me until he had reached the door and beat it a few times with the brass knocker that was shaped like a lion's head. "We need somewhere to stay, I need someone to tend to my wound properly and this is the last place people would look. I met Ukitake-san in Afghanistan and we made friends. Also, I'm bloody starving. "

I almost laughed at the last second, but then again; I'd forgotten how hungry I was. I'd been meaning to eat last night but, you know: dashing off with some runaway sniper rarely comes with regular mealtimes. I could hear distant footsteps echoing in the house, yet they didn't seem to get any closer. I spiral staircase, I assumed. "Wouldn't Aizen know you two were friends then?"

The footsteps got louder. "Nah. In Afghan' none of us trusted Aizen. We had a bunch of people who we stuck with in the open, then friends that we talked to in secret. That way, when the war was over, if we ever needed to hide somewhere then we had people we could go to. "

"Oh."

The door creaked open and a nose pushed out, followed by an eye. The eye looked me up and down, then flicked towards Tōshirō and flashed with recognition. "Hitsugaya-kun! It's you!" The door shut for a few seconds, followed by the tell-tale sound of a chain being unhooked. It then flew wide open and a man threw himself into a great bear-hug. Tōshirō stumbled back in shock, brows knitted together and lips pursed in a way that made me chortle, then grinned and patted Ukitake awkwardly on the back.

"Nice to see you too, Ukitake-san."

The man pulled back and I managed to get a good look at his features. He didn't look too old, forty at my best guess; yet his eyes were withered and his hair was a shocking white that cascaded down to his waist. His eyes were a bright emerald, putting Tōshirō's to shame (Although Tōshirō's eyes were much more appealing) and sparked in a way that implied he knew too much. _Just like Tōshirō,_ I noted. He was fully clad in a simple cream shirt, three buttons left undone at the collar to show off an impeccably smooth chest, a long mint coloured scarf and a set of white jeans that only added to his almost omniscient countenance. He reminded me of God from Bruce Almighty, and I mentally chuckled at the notion. He looked as though he were an Agony Aunt; someone who Tōshirō went to in desperate times of need. An amiable smile adorned the lower half of his face, yet his brows were pulled tight at the top. His emotions were easily decipherable: He was happy to see Tōshirō, unsure as to what to think of me and had some underlying anxiety regarding our presence here. He wasn't displeased; just anxious.

"I'd like to say I'm glad you're here, but I don't think you're here for a cuppa and a chat, are you?" He pushed the door open again, as it had closed slightly in the duration of their hug, and gestured for us to go inside.

"I'm afraid not," Tōshirō deadpanned. After thanking Ukitake with a nominal bow of his head, he stepped inside the house. He motioned with a languid flick of his hand for me to follow. I hurried inside, skittering around in my apprehension which made our host chortle.

"M-my name's Ichigo." I held out my hand for him to take. He stared me in the face for a few awkward seconds then glanced down at my hand. His smile brightened almost instantly and he grasped my waiting palm warmly.

"Good to meet you, Ichigo," he beamed. His handshake was a little too rough for my taste, clenching my fingers to the point where it was painful, but I managed a half-smile in return. "My name is Jūshirō Ukitake, a friend of young Hitsugaya-kun, here." He pointed towards the now rather impudent looking Tōshirō, who was busy scowling at the sight of both of us. It should have been deemed childish, but I couldn't help but smile at the gorgeous face he made when he was irritated. It was adorable, though I wouldn't care to say that out loud.

"This is all very well and nice," Tōshirō began and made his way towards the spiral staircase, "but would you mind closing the door? Ukitake-san, I'd like your assistance if you wouldn't mind. Ichigo, you come too." His hand clasped around the rather gratuitously elaborate rail that bordered the flight of steps and he hopped up it. The thin material of his shirt bobbed as he jogged up the stairs and I noticed a modicum of white skin. A blush began to spread across my cheeks. My thoughts wandered to memories of him gazing down upon me, fingers fisting into my shirt, with those bright emerald eyes filled with pomposity and what I hoped would be some variety of illicit libido. The memory reel in my mind spun back to a few seconds before; to that creamy neck that would be oh so lavishing to swipe my tongue across. Said tongue drew a line across my lips in my never-to-come anticipation. Ukitake coughed beside me. I snapped my head back from my listless fantasy, wondering if I had been too obvious. Thankfully (or maybe not so much) he was just hacking up something; in fact the coughing attack seemed to span for a longer period of time than I would have deemed usual.

"Are you okay, Ukitake-san?" I asked, placing a hand on his back and patting it gawkily. He continued to retch up nothing in particular. He was hunched over quite severely, scarf draping along the ground. Scarlet powdered the skin on his cheeks.

"Y-yes." _Cough._ "Sor-" _Hack._ "I'm okay, I swear-" _Heave, retch, hack._ The process continued for a while, him trying to breathe and assure me he was fine at the same time. He started to wobble, stumbling around slightly on his spot. I just caught him in time. He fell slack in my arms and I cursed. _At least he stopped coughing…_ I thought to myself dryly. I scanned the room for somewhere he could sit down, yet all I could find was a table and the stairs. I opted to lead him towards the steps. With his arm draped around my shoulder, we began to hobble towards the staircase; him offering what little help he could.

"I'm sorry so, Kurosaki-san," he wheezed in a breathy tone. "I have some… breathing issues… it's nothing too bad."

"It sounds bad enough to me," I said and began to knead little circles into his back. He slumped down on the first step he could, ultimately slipping down onto the floor in his ineptness. The heaving in his chest began to lessen, until he was breathing normally again. It was all over quite quickly; just as it had started.

"Kurosaki-san…"

"Come on, you just had a coughing fit, give yourself a break," I chuckled wryly. I took my hand away from his back once the sharp inhalations had subsided.

He waved an indignant hand my way, brushing off my comment. "No, this is important."

I took in a deep breath. All these war veterans; constantly nagging me about _something_. Couldn't he just loosen up? Or at least take care of Tōshirō first? "Go on then."

The muscles on his arms strained as he pulled himself up onto the second step where I was sitting. I wanted to tell him to stop pushing himself, but any words that defied him would undoubtedly be in vain. "Kurosaki-san, how long have you known Hitsugaya-kun?"

I cast my memory back to when I met him. It had been precisely 17:13 when we entered the car - I would remember that number for the rest of my life. I assumed it was before lunch, so that meant… I hadn't even known him for a day.

"Not… not even a day?" It was more of a question in itself rather than an answer. How could I have only known him for half a day when it felt like I had known him for years? I felt something towards him that wasn't normal; I wouldn't be able to live without him. Here, talking to Ukitake-san… as nice as the man was I didn't feel complete with Tōshirō in another room. He wasn't there to be that warm spot on my arm, that jigsaw piece that fit snugly into my side; that _something_ to fill the void. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose him. I'd just gotten him; I didn't want him to leave my side. The bereavement would be too much to abide. I could only imagine the feeling would grow. This feeling of utter adoration would only blossom into something more - I would venerate the boy.

"And he already refers to you on a first name basis…" Ukitake let his gaze drift into the corner somewhere. His eyes flicked from side to side, figuring something out. His movements were quick and agile as he spun back towards me and grabbed my wrists. I instinctively pulled back at the touch, but his grip was strong and his eyes just as intense.

"Kurosaki-san," he started; almost obstinate in his need for me to listen. "Hitsugaya-kun already trusts you - he trusts you more than he has trusted anyone that I know of. He will have told you of Kusaka, I am sure. He will have told you of his relations with Kusaka. He trusts you more than Kusaka. You are the only person he has referred to by their given name - ever. He never once referred to Kusaka as 'Sōjirō', not in the whole time that they were together. Do you know what that boy has been through, Kurosaki-san? He has had to endure more than any boy, or man for that matter, should have to endure. He has experienced pain in more than one way, and probably more than a few. Even before what happened, he was unwilling to trust; to put his faith in even one person for fear that he would be betrayed. He has a good sense of character, so when he entrusted his faith to you he gave it to you with all his heart and soul. He does not do that lightly, and he does not do it often. Kurosaki-san. If he asks you to do something then you must be acquiescent. If he wishes to confide in you then you must be there when he requires you to do so. I don't know what has happened between you two or what either of you intend to happen; but to be frank I do not care, so long as you do not abuse that connection."

I was taken aback to say the least. A light dusting of burgundy now almost certainly lay indelible on my skin. Yes, I did know what Tōshirō had been through, but whatever Ukitake was referring to meant more than just fighting in Afghanistan. War is a horrible, malevolent thing. I could tell that Ukitake's cough was no transient phase - it was a consequence of fighting in a country where dust and smoke were palpable in the grey air. Tōshirō did not hear voices from birth - the sound of gunfire and innocent civilians dying had brought forward his subconscious and twisted it into something bitter. And I was sure they weren't the only ones. There would be war veterans dotted around the globe, each one sporting some sort of ailment due to their time in service. But what Ukitake was talking about was something else entirely. Maybe to do with the war, maybe not - but it affected Tōshirō in a way he could not manifest.

"Ukitake-san," I stated. "Rest assured; I will not harm Tōshirō - ever. I would rather die."

I meant that.

His mouth tugged weakly at the corners. "I'm glad that is your answer. Now, what kind of bother has he gotten himself into now?"

I was hungry. Hunger made it hard for me to think straight. "He was shot. I think he wants you to stitch the wound."

He jumped straight to his feet, sprinting towards what looked like the kitchen with the vigour of someone half his age. "Why didn't you say so earlier? That boy bleeds like he has haemophilia! Hurry up, Kurosaki-san! Go and check up on him! And shut the door, will you?"

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><p><em><strong>I hope that please you all ^^ Please let me know if you think this story is going too slow, because I'm not even at the point where I planned chapter two to end so I think I'm rambling a little ^^;<strong>_

_**Updates might be a little slower now, but that's just until Christmas. I have exams and homework and more exams and then coursework and then exams and it's all so stressful x_x Plus I just bought the new Zelda game which I would very much like to play (I've nearly done the first temple - without a walkthrough *is proud*)**_

_**Need I remind you to review?**_


	5. Chapter 4

_**Due to some rather… unfortunate circumstances I've lost all faith in my abilities to write well :/ On the bright side, I'm pretty sure there will be a hint of smut on the horizon… *hohoho* Sorry for the delay. School and crap is making it difficult to find time to write. See, I used to get a crapload of writing done on a Friday evening ('cause I'd generally not have much homework and could do it in an hour), but now I go pony riding again and work and all other grown up stuff so I don't have time XD**_

_**The song here is 'Never too Late' by 'Three Days Grace'. I'm having a little obsession with these guys at the moment. Adam Gontier (Lovely voice, he has~), Shemar Moore, Thomas Gibson and Matthew Gray Gubler (All 'Criminal Minds', love that show~) are now my 'live-action' victims of my fangirling ^^**_

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><p><em>Even if I say 'It'll be alright',<br>Still I hear you say you want to end your life.  
>Now and again we try to just stay alive.<br>Maybe we'll turn it all around 'cause it's not too late, it's never too late._

_**Chapter 4**_

When Jūshirō (Which he insisted I now call him, so long as he could call me 'Ichigo') had asked how Tōshirō was still standing if he had been shot, I had very quickly told him of the makeshift IV and how I had injected it into the sniper's arm. He had seemed impressed, possibly a little too impressed. When he asked what happened next I'd told him we had both fallen asleep. I'm not sure why, but it was possibly the red that tinged my cheeks that made him shoot me a suggestive look. He had simply raised his eyebrows at me and not mentioned the subject again. I was hardly in my right mind to protest, for I was much too concerned for the boy who had apparently taken his place in the master bedroom, according to Jūshirō's interpretation of where the footsteps were coming from.

When the front door was successfully closed and our conversation was over, Jūshirō led me up the spiral steps. The depressed wood made such a hollow, disconcerting echo every time we placed our feet down. I began to wonder if I should have taken my shoes off, but we were already on the upper floor before I finished the notion. The floor on the second storey up was carpeted, so I expected our footsteps to be stifled somewhat; yet the floorboards still creaked and groaned with our every move. Jūshirō blathered on about something unimportant to try and fill the silence, but I wasn't quite listening. The hallway was long; too long. I couldn't see any door that would indicate that the room it guarded would be the biggest. They all looked the same - dark mahogany doors with golden handles that were framed by hundreds of insipid paintings of landscapes. It was quite a country house, only five times larger.

Finally, after what could have been days for all I cared, I noticed a different door. The main difference being the fact that there were two of them, but I figured that the likelihood of him giving double doors to his bathroom was rather low. I raised my hand to try and point to it, but Jūshirō was already nodding and hastening his pace towards the door. I hurried after.

What awaited me in the master bedroom was a sight that I would be sure to hold for a _very_ long time. Tōshirō had already taken the liberty of stripping his shirt off, leaving just his bare chest and a T-Shirt was tied securely around his waist, blood staining the material. At least half of the makeshift bandage was sodden with his blood, so how had it not shown through his shirt? I glanced over at the thin material that he had tossed onto the floor beside him, and noticed it wasn't quite as thin as I had thought. It was more of a jacket, lined with some sort of waterproof fabric that wouldn't have allowed the blood to flow. But still… my eyes trailed back towards the boy on the bed and I noted just how _thin_ he was. It was almost bordering scrawny, the way the flesh and muscles barely pulled over his bones. He looked malnourished, as if he hadn't eaten in weeks, and the skin across his chest was marred with purple and red splotches. Whether they were bruises or just some sort of side effect of being shot at, I didn't know - but it didn't look healthy. Not in the slightest. But still, there was no denying that he was stunning, _beautiful_,and my hungry eyes undressed every part of him. And then, very slowly, he made to pull the T-Shirt from around his waist. I gulped as I felt Jūshirō push past me and dart towards Tōshirō. He pleaded for Tōshirō to rest and allow him to take the bandage off, but Tōshirō continued to unravel the fabric without a word. I could see him wince as the material pulled away from the wound.

And I winced myself when I saw what the material was hiding.

Blood still dribbled thickly from the gaping wound. There were crimson blotches smeared around the laceration from where the fabric had pulled away. Some kind of mustard substance was oozing from the hole and I could feel bile rising in my throat. Tōshirō tugged at the hemline of his trousers slightly to pull it away from the lesion, yet I couldn't bring myself to revel at the sight of it. It was a black spot on his perfect visage, marring the boy's flawless countenance. He was gazing at the bullet hole with something resembling curiosity; something resembling confusion. His fingers twitched at the edge of the jagged rip in the skin, not even flinching as he touched the bare flesh. He had that kind of interest playing across this features akin to that of a young child playing with a line of insects, prodding them and stamping on them as they fled for their lives. It was a kind of innocent appearance that was terrifying, simply because the child didn't know what carnage they were initiating. Guys who had weighed death in their hands as a child inevitably grew up to be evil men. I vaguely remembered stamping on an anthill as a child. I wondered when my time would come.

Tōshirō stared at us blankly, still playing with the rim of the gash. Blood trickled down his fingers to leave a crimson path in its wake. His eyes were sunken again, pallid in the way that there wasn't even violet marks underneath them. He was too bright-eyed - too unperturbed by the situation. I shuddered.

"Hitsugaya-kun!" Jūshirō pushed past me and I recoiled when I realised I had been staring. "You should have waited for us!"

I noticed that Jūshirō was carrying a wooden box with a messily painted cross on the top - a homemade first aid kit. I hadn't seen him holding it when he had come out of the kitchen, so I wondered where he had picked it up. He hurried to the side of the bed where Tōshirō was sitting and stuffed a clean portion of the T-Shirt next to the wound to try and stop the blood from spilling onto the bed. He mumbled some indecipherable things, probably about the bed sheets getting ruined, and flipped the box open with one hand; fingering at the materials inside. When his hand left the case, it was clad in a wad of gauze with a needle sticking out of it. There was also a long line of suture looped through the eye of the needle - what I assumed he would be using to stitch the wound. Tōshirō's eyes dilated at the sight of the needle and he shot back against the wall, effectively deeming the shirt futile and allowing his blood to flow along the bed. Jūshirō cursed.

"Of course, he hates needles…" he muttered to himself. He dropped the contents of his hand and turned to the door. "Ichigo, would you calm him down and put the shirt over the wound again? I need to go to the bathroom."

I stared after him, mentally rebuking him for needing the bathroom at such a time. Tōshirō was bleeding to death on the bed, and he needed the bathroom?

Instead, I hurried over to Tōshirō's side. His gaze followed mine exactly as I skittered to the bed. He drew his legs up to his chest and embraced them, resting his chin between his knees. The position couldn't have done his wound any good, so I touched the material on his jeans lightly. His muscle tensed as I touched it, but it didn't recoil. I let a smile fall on my face; tried to be reassuring.

"Tōshirō, you need to lie down," I murmured. My fingers trailed down his leg and gently pushed it down. It flopped lifelessly on the mattress and the other one joined it soon after. He looked tired, so very tired. His eyes had been vivid with interest just seconds before yet a languid bat of his eyelids proved otherwise. His head lolled to the side and he began to slide down onto the bed. I held the shirt by his side, but it didn't seem to be doing much good anymore. His eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted slightly. His face was pale again. His entire visage seemed to change like the weather; bright-eyed and healthy one second then looking beyond ill the next. It was unsettling. A sporadic shudder racked his body and he hugged his waist. He tried to roll onto his side but the manoeuvre appeared too painful and he wrenched back into position a little to violently, causing another pained spasm.

"I'm cold," he mumbled.

My fingers drifted to the locks of hair over his forehead and wrapped themselves in the tresses. "I know - I'm sorry." I didn't know what I was apologising for. None of this was my fault.

Then he muttered something else incomprehensible. I bent forwards so that I could hear him better, but he simply turned his head away from me, hiding his eyes in the pillow. I dry smile touched my lips.

"C'mon, what did you say?" I chuckled. I laced my fingers further between the strands of hair and twiddled them. They still seemed to be so soft, even after however long it had been since he'd bathed. I was sure Jūshirō would let him wash whilst we stayed - common courtesy. My thoughts drifted to other things, like steaming water dripping down bare, milky skin…

He whispered something again, something I missed due to my incessant need to think about him in inappropriate ways. Damnit, why did I get so distracted? "You'll have to speak up, Tōshirō. I can't hear you," I tried, snorting slightly in my embarrassment. I guided myself to the edge of the bed and lowered myself onto it, still stroking the snowy locks that were plastered to his forehead. And then I felt a set of lithe fingers reach up my leg and touch the hand that was resting on my knee. His fingers entwined with mine, squeezing his clammy palm against my cool one.

"Can you hold my hand…?" It was still barely audible, only comprehensible from the implication his tone held, coupled with the fingers around mine. There was a hesitation, just a slight pause, before he turned his head to mine. But only slightly. His eyes refused to flicker my way. "He's going to hurt me."

There was such sadness in the words. I could feel both our grips tighten simultaneously. His legs began to curl towards his chest. His eyes closed again and his face screwed into such a pained look that I felt dejected myself. A silent sob permeated his lips. It was such a poignant sight - I couldn't bear to see someone as stoic and strong as him break down like this. Nothing in my head seemed lucid anymore. The only thing that I could see was Tōshirō, sobbing into the mattress, with a black, blurred border around the edges. I gently trailed the tips of my fingers along the bare skin of his arm. I felt the shudder course through his body; shake him to his very core. He was scared; terrified. Jūshirō had said he was scared of needles. He was wrong - Tōshirō was scared of being hurt. Jūshirō wouldn't have any anaesthetic; there would be nothing to numb the pain. The boy was already in pain and he didn't want any more. Was that such a thing to ask?

I ducked my head down and pressed my lips to the skin of his neck. There was nothing endearing about it; I just wanted to comfort him, to do _anything_ to desist the pain he was feeling - even if just a modicum. "He's going to make you feel better. It won't hurt afterwards."

His head shook as fast as the convulsions of his body. "N-no, he wants to hurt me."

My lips moved up to his forehead and pressed against it. "Nobody wants to hurt you. We want to help you."

The sobs weren't silent anymore. They were bubbling up his throat, popping out of his mouth as he choked on them. I felt my teeth grit and I kissed the area next to his eye. It tasted saline, salty - it tasted like the bitter tears he shed.

One hand still clasped tightly around mine, the other moved up to clutch at my shirt. His hands were grimy from the shower he was still in need of. "Don't hurt me…"

How could I? What would possess me to do something so spiteful? "No," I muttered. My lips dragged down the calloused skin of his cheek and puckered by the side of his mouth. "Never."

I could feel his ragged breath against my chapped lips, and it occurred to me that I should never have been allowed anything close to this kind of proximity with someone as endearing as him. I didn't deserve him; I couldn't be allowed to hold anything as perfect as Tōshirō close to me. I shouldn't have been perched on the end of the bed, clutching at his hand in such a non-platonic manner. I shouldn't have allowed my spare hand to trail down the bare skin of his torso, leaving burning trails on the cold skin. I shouldn't have been sat with my bare forehead resting against his. But then, he shouldn't have been returning it with the same fervency. He fisted my shirt like a life jacket, clawing at the material so vehemently that I was sure it would rip. How could we not be permitted this propinquity if we both tried so inordinately hard to make it happen? I didn't know whether he was trying to pull me towards him or lift himself up, but somehow he seemed to do the latter. Still entwined with mine, his hand laced behind my neck and he gripped the skin. Hairs stood erect on the nape as he caressed the area. My eyelids trembled somewhat as I suddenly felt awash with fatigue. I wanted to stay here. I didn't care what happened next or how long we would remain bespoke for each other's arms - we could just stay here. It was so perfect… so very perfect…

I harsh click rent the air and I wrenched back from his grip, nearly dropping Toshiro in the process, as Jūshirō walked through the door. He waddled in carrying a large basin filled with water and hooked several pristine towels across his arm as though he were a waiter - pristine towels which I assumed would take a crimson shade quite soon. He had the gauze and other items tucked into the rim of the bowl, held in place by a few fingers. He wobbled to the edge of the bed and half placed half dropped the items on the floor. I glanced at Tōshirō again. He had shot back against the wall again; palms flush against the white plaster. I tried to ignore the bloodshot eyes, the quivering lip; the utter dread that was painted over his features.

"Can you lift him up, Ichigo?"

"_What?_" I squeaked in a falsetto voice. _Lift him up?_

Jūshirō was, of course, completely untroubled by my reaction and his tone suggested he was confused as to _why_ exactly I reacted in such a way. "Yes, lift him up. I need to put the towels under him. Hurry, hurry." He lifted the needle to eye level to check the suture was threaded correctly.

I was a little too quick to react to him and snatched Tōshirō up quickly. He let out a little yelp when I crushed him to my torso, successfully hurting him even more. I loosened my grip and jerked my hand away from the wound. I tossed him around in my arms for a few seconds, as though he were a hot plate, until he was snug in my arms. I held his legs up by the crook of my elbow and rested his back on my forearm. It only just occurred to me how light he was. He was frail, gaunt - and I held him in my arms like a princess. The notion turned my cheeks a bright scarlet. His eyes had closed again to try and hide the nuance of red they had taken. He could have been asleep for all I knew if he hadn't been wide awake seconds before. His nose brushed against the cotton of my shirt and those pink petal lips pursed slightly as he relaxed. Damn that Jūshirō for his haste.

Said damned Jūshirō patted the towels down and grinned at me in his delight. "Perfect. You can put him down, now."

I wanted to tell him to piss off and let me have this moment with Tōshirō, but cleaning the latter's wounds was of more importance. Yearning for the snowy haired sniper was turning me vindictive. I lowered him onto the bed and smoothed his limbs out so he was flat on his back. Jūshirō procured a pair of rubber gloves from the wad of gauze and thrust his hands into them, snapping the material and wriggling his fingers. It was childish and I didn't like it.

"I don't have any anaesthetic so you'll have to hold him down." He was still so calm, so childlike in his persona that I didn't trust him to sew up the wound. But I would have to. I probed the skin on Tōshirō's fingers and they opened like a flower, letting me grab his hand. I drew a line across the skin with my thumb. _So soft… _My other hand was flat on his chest, ready to push him down when he writhed in agony.

"I'll just clean it with some saline..." His tongue was peeking out the side of his mouth in concentration. He stuffed a small portion of the gauze into the basin and squeezed the excess out. He then bent over Tōshirō's small body and went to dab the soaked material around the wound. The sight of the tall, inordinately so, man towering over the smaller boy's body only made the latter seem more tiny, more frail. He then daubed the solution around the gash. Tōshirō's grip on my hand tightened and I could see his eyelids crease. He bit his lower lip as he felt the undeniable sting the cold solution would bring. A pang in my chest made me want to tear him away from Jūshirō's offending touch, to carry him to the hospital where he could be treated in comfort - without pain.

Only I couldn't. He wasn't safe in a hospital. He wasn't safe anywhere.

Lightly and indiscernibly, I stroked the emaciated skin of his chest. I willed his eyes to open. He needed to look at me; he needed to see my eyes telling him that it was okay. My hand tightened to encourage him to look at me, but he just yelped as the solution stung the bloodied tissue. I glanced over to see the area where Jūshirō was working on. He still had his tongue stuck out in that incorrigible manner of his, but I could see his eyes squint in concentration. The skin by his temples was taking a lilac shade from his concentration; from his breath hitching every time Tōshirō whimpered. He visibly winced when Tōshirō let out a particularly loud gasp as he wiped the cloth directly over the gash.

"I-I'm no expert…" he admitted feebly, throwing the gauze on the floor and soaking a new one. "I'm sorry… this is going to hurt."

Tōshirō half screamed in absolute agony. Jūshirō's finger was wrapped around the sodden material, and at least an inch deep in the wound. The boy tried to writhe, tried to recoil; tried the wrench away from the source of his torment. I wanted to let him; I _desperately _wanted to let him. He convulsed under my touch. I pressed down as hard as I could but his strength was undeniably out of proportion from what his size would suggest. I stood as durable and steady as I could manage, but I still wobbled from his efforts. The force I was applying had to have been hurting him, but it was nothing compared to the pain of that finger in the gash. Then I saw the counterfeited doctor twist his fingers and Tōshirō shrieked. It was a high pitched, heart wrenching shriek that he should never have emitted. I could have sworn his grip broke my fingers, for I could hear the pathetic crunches of the bone - but my pain was insignificant. I squeezed back just as hard and completely ignored the protest my joints made. My voice broke pathetically and I leaned down to kiss his chest, uncaring as to whether Jūshirō was watching or not. I whispered contrite promises against his torso, told him it would all be over soon. Lying was acceptable now, wasn't it? I could promise him things I couldn't keep because his perception of time would be warped, wouldn't it?

Jūshirō apologised so many times during the procedure. The melancholic words dripped from his lips every few seconds, increasing in pitch and tempo as the boy squirmed. He withdrew his finger from the gash and I saw what he was cleaning. The mustard type liquid I had seen from the cut went deeper than I had thought, for his whole finger was coated with a thick layer of it. He threw the gauze to the side (it landed almost perfectly next to the previous one) and he made for another wad of material. Tōshirō whimpered when he saw the man bend down.

"P-please… d-don't… n-n-no…" he choked between sobs. He flung one forearm over his eyes and sobbed into it. "I-Ichigo, don't… d-don't let h-him…"

I caressed the skin on his cheek, knowing he wouldn't bolt upright when Jūshirō was away. "Just a little more-"

A broken howl of anguish escaped his lips and he tried to roll away. I grabbed him by the shoulder to hold him in place, but any motivation was quickly lost when his arm moved away from his eyes. They were a burning emerald, darker than I had ever seen them. They were bordered by swirling wisps of black and red that danced around his irises, warping as tears distorted the view.

"Y-you want to h-hurt me…" he breathed. It was a resignation, a realisation; as though we had been lying to him all this time.

"No…" Still gripping his hand, I clambered over his body and lay my head on the pillow. I snaked one hand around his waist and brought the one that he held up to his cheek. "Never." He sighed into my palm; nuzzled it. I could feel his warm breath graze over my fingers and it made me shiver. I shunted down the bed slightly so that I was eye level with him. I had to keep his gaze. My presence only slightly calmed him, though, and he squeezed his eyes shut as the gauze dunked into the gash.

Tissue after bloodied tissue was thrown in the floor. Hundreds of them had to have been strewn in a heap. My shoulder was dappled with red and was most likely a colourful array of purples and blacks from where Tōshirō had bitten me. I'd ignored the pain in my shoulder, ignored the pain in my hand - just focused on petting him. I rested my cheek on his chest and breathed on the flushed skin. He trembled, twitched; convulsed as though he were cursed with tourettes. The screaming had ceased, evanesced into pathetic whimpers that licked around my skin; scarring it with their crude denotation. He was tired. I was tired. I'm sure Jūshirō was tired as well but none of us could sleep. Jūshirō had to work, Tōshirō had to feel and I… I had to comfort. I barely noticed how close I was to him; to his half-stripped self that was here, writhing in agony. It wasn't how I wanted to see him. I should have been making him writhe, making sweat dew at his hairline - but it should have been under a completely different circumstance. His face should have been twisting into one of ecstasy, not contorting into one of suffering. The gasps should have been in pleasure, not pain. Jūshirō should not have been there, it should have been me - teasing a completely different orifice. His teeth sunk into my collar again as a new clump of saturated gauze entered the wound, but there was no bite in it. He was barely conscious; wavering on a comatose and cognisant state. His breathing was jagged from screaming, his eyes bloodshot from crying. I wondered if he could feel anymore.

Jūshirō withdrew his finger and examined it. The tissue had only taken a slight pink hue this time, not crimson tipped with sallow cream. He rubbed his forearm over his forehead, but it slid off easily from the slick of moisture that he was trying to remove. "It's clean now. I'll have to stitch it now."

I think it was about then when Tōshirō slipped out of any mindfulness. Panic and resolution pulled him in two different directions, tugging at his limbs like two children arguing over a toy, and it was only so long before one would have to snap. The child of pain seemed to have been the more dominant of the two. And I wasn't ashamed to admit that I was glad. He had screamed enough, suffered enough; we could grant him this comatose state for as long as time would allow him. His face was slack and his brow relaxed; an indulgence which I wasn't allowed to revel in very often. My arm was beginning to numb from the slight weight of his body, so I carefully pulled it out from under him. He didn't stir. A goofy smile played across my face and I nearly chuckled. He wasn't as dangerous as I had thought; he didn't even come close. He looked so very innocent when he didn't adorn a spiteful simper, so innocent that it never occurred to me how he still had a pistol tucked neatly in his pocket and how exceedingly skilled he was at using it.

I saw the telltale glint of metal as Jūshirō held up the needle, checking it once more to ensure the suture was threaded correctly. He flicked the eye when he was satisfied, then bent over Tōshirō's body again. I closed my eyes. He didn't need me anymore; Tōshirō was unconscious and wouldn't be waking up any time soon. I allowed the blackness to bleed into my mind, let it drown out all logical thoughts into one non-committal hum. There was a comfortable silence, hanging soft as silk in the air between us all. No-one complained, no-one even breathed louder than required. We'd had enough of our fair share of screaming and I was happy to welcome the silence; to let it blanket me in its comforting embrace. Silent breaths tickled the skin on my face, made the hairs stand erect in a way that was more soothing than chilling. I sank into the feeling. If I had thought sleeping in the car was wonderful then this had to have been classed as perfection. If only there was no blood, no pain… and no Jūshirō.

The last thing I remembered was utter contentment before the black took over.

* * *

><p>Something was much warmer than I remembered. That is, of what little I remembered. I vaguely recollected falling asleep, but as to where and when and why - it was not of importance. I felt well rested and happy. Just happy. My back didn't hurt like it had in the car, and it was a damned sight warmer than it had been as well. A breathy sigh escaped my lips and I huddled into the new source of warmth. It felt like a blanket, but I didn't remember it being there to start with. But then again, I didn't really remember much. The memories didn't come flooding back as they should have, just sprinkled me with small traces of information every few seconds. I'd walked home from school, bumped into someone, got into the person's car, slept in the car, gone to a stranger's house…<p>

_Oh, right_. I was in Jūshirō's house, in Jūshirō's bed.

With Tōshirō.

What surprised me the most was that I wasn't surprised. It would have made me feel uneasy when I realised that the whole situation felt so _mundane_, if I wasn't too busy gliding along on my proverbial cloud of fatigue to really care. My fingers curled around the soft cotton of the duvet and pulled it up to my chin, then tucked my nose under the fabric. There was a little chuckle beside me, but I ignored it. I wriggled my toes and revelled in the heat trapped under the sheets. It was like waking up on a winter morning when the heating had been left on and everything was just perfectly _warm_.

_Hang on… _My mind ran on a reel back to a few seconds ago, back to the soft chuckle that bubbled through the air. Who was it who was in the bed again? Was it Tōshirō? I bloody well hoped so. The fabric by my nose tugged slightly, pulling it down to my chin. I let out a tired grunt in protest, which quickly turned into a rather unmanly squeal when the duvet was yanked down to my stomach, baring my arms to the cold room. My eyes shot open to meet those fervent teal ones, sparking with amusement and mischief. A crooked smile twisted into shape on his face, revealing pearl white teeth. Any cold quickly ran from my body and I melted into the striking grin. His face was normal… again. _Damnit,_ I internally cursed him. _He goes from a pile of bones to _this_ in just a few… however long it's been?_ I was rather envious of him at that moment.

"Not a morning person?" he drawled.

I rubbed my eyes with my forearm then snatched the covers from his grip, flopping back down on the bed and pulling it back over my shoulders. It wasn't as warm as before, much to my dismay. "It morning already?"

"Naw." I saw his gaze drift around the room idly. He had his legs crossed and back hunched over slightly. He looked like a bored teenager - which he probably was. I only just noted that he had a new shirt on, not the one he had before. It was akin to Jūshirō's, only he wore a light blue vest under the long sleeved shirt. It looked a lot better on him. "It's only seven. You sleep like a baby, you know? Ukitake left some food, if you're interested."

My ears pricked at the sound. _Food?_ My stomach growled in excitement. It had been over a day since I had eaten and the mere prospect of whatever cooking Jūshirō had done had me salivating. I wiped the drool from my lip and flipped over to look at what Tōshirō was referring to. On the floor there was a plain, metal tray with two plates overflowing with enough food to feed a king. There was beef, gravy, potatoes, an assortment of vegetables, Yorkshire puddings and next to the plates there was a mug filled with coffee and a plate with a rather generous slice of chocolate cake. I may have involuntary whimpered when I saw the delicacies, judging from Tōshirō's giggle. I dived off the bed and sat in front of the tray, drinking in the sight with my hungry eyes. I grabbed one of the forks on the tray and impaled a large amount of the food, then shoved it all in my mouth. Half of it dropped out but I was far too famished to care about eating politely. I chewed on a potato, a sprout and a chunk of beef, noting that it was all still relatively hot. It even burned my cheeks but the amount of food plugged in my mouth left me helpless to do anything about it.

Tōshirō took a more elegant approach to his food: gracefully sliding onto the floor next to me and daintily picking up the remaining fork between his thumb and forefinger, letting it balance there for a few seconds before stabbing down on a potato. He bit a little bit off and chewed on it carefully. Noting the clear difference between our eating habits, I frowned at myself, choking on the boiling food as I tried to laugh. I managed to swallow the contents of my mouth after a few uncomfortable seconds of suffocating and chuckling and then continued with my mad guffawing.

Tōshirō frowned at me, popping the rest of the potato in his mouth and making for another piece of food. "What?"

I wasn't even sure. The laughter just came. Maybe it was how ironic this all was, or how completely _ordinary_ it felt. There wasn't anything exciting about waking up with his lithe body next to mine, teasing me by throwing the covers back, or watching him eat his meal. It felt normal, everyday - like we had been doing it for the better part of our lives. I was completely unperturbed by his presence as he was with mine. We were both oblivious to the fact that we were fugitives, on the run from the police - both for very diverse reasons that felt all too similar. We had both escaped. I had escaped my lifestyle and he had escaped his, yet somehow we had joined together in some kind of inescapable fate. Now we were together, we wouldn't separate - I just wouldn't let that happen. We were joined by the hip, connected by something that the universe might describe as destiny but it sounded too insipid to depict what we shared. I didn't care that nothing was official, that we hadn't even admitted any kind of feelings for one another; there was just that absolute _knowing_ that something was there, even if I couldn't comprehend just what it was.

But it was a comfortable kind of realisation that hit me, one that I couldn't describe but understood perfectly. "Talk about beauty and the beast," I finally choked. It was all too funny, much too hilarious for Tōshirō to understand.

He cocked his head at me sceptically, blinking as though I was speaking a different language (although I didn't doubt that he would understand whatever tongue I spontaneously began speaking fluently in) then shook it and nodded to a spot next to the tray. "He left you a note and your bag."

I didn't even wonder how he'd gotten my bag when it was in my car. He was a friend of Tōshirō's - that explained it. I picked up the note and fingered at the serrated edge. In delicate script, my name was printed in ink with a printed flower next to it that I couldn't name. Jūshirō really did like his flowers. I flipped it over and noticed the floral insigne again in the upper corner. Perfectly centred, there was an equally calligraphic set of words.

_Gone out for a bit. Be back in the morning. _

_Brought your bag for you. Left you some food and clothes._

It was relatively straight forward but it got the point across. I glanced up from the yellowish piece of card and saw my broken rucksack blanketed by a shirt and vest top identical to the ones Tōshirō now wore, only the shirt was a dark red and the top was black. It didn't seem like the kind of thing that Jūshirō wore, but I never quite dwelled upon the fact.

Instead, I reached for my bag and tore it open, successfully breaking the zip beyond repair as it snapped in two. After flicking the broken piece to the side, I shoved my hand in and rummaged around, scraping my skin on sharpened pencils and their sharpenings. At last I found what I was searching for - my sketchbook and a ballpoint pen. I pulled them out and chucked the bag across the room, marvelling at how far the contents splayed in front of it. I noted that Kira's notebook went the furthest of them all. Dexterously, I flipped through pages of mindless doodles that were scrawled in pencil from when I frequently found my concentration jaded during lectures. Many were just absent minded lines that ultimately led to nowhere, but I found the occasional scribble of an unknown face wearing hundreds of expressions. I was about three quarters of the way through the notepad before there were any blank pages at all. The first few had folds in them, an imperfection in the paper I did not want to have to work around. A couple later and I found a flawless, white piece of paper - which was quickly marred with ink.

"Are you drawing?" It sounded as though he was gnawing on a piece of beef now. I nodded at him, glancing up and then down again. My hand flew across the paper with well practised ease. This kind of thing was natural now. I'd practised enough to know what to do whilst barely looking. Lightly sketched shapes eventually grew into more confident polygons, eventually forming into thick lines and features. I took another glimpse at Tōshirō before hunching over the paper and letting my arm do the work. It was turning out quite well, and I smiled at the image taking place before me. I looked up for the third time that minute, but noticed a change. Doing a double take, I noticed that Tōshirō was scowling; his mouth pulled into a staid frown. That wasn't right. That didn't work with my picture.

"Are you… drawing me?" he asked very slowly. My wrist stopped flicking across the paper and I naturally felt the need to hug the book to my chest. My thumb was tucked into the page I was working on, just so I didn't lose it, but otherwise it was completely shut. I didn't like people seeing my drawings before I was finished.

"Yes," I answered just as slowly. I pressed the notebook even closer to my torso and wrapped my arms around it, as though he could see through the thick card on the back cover. I twiddled the biro between my fingers anxiously, hoping he would stop glaring so I could continue. If I didn't get back to drawing soon I would lose my flow; lose the will to make it look decent. The pen cap began tapping against the book in my impatience.

His scowl eventually slackened and his head tilted. Confusion and amusement was patent across his face. He leaned forwards and rocked onto his hands and knees then began advancing towards me. I would have laughed at the thought, if the sight of it wasn't so unnaturally feral that it was endearing. "Show me."

I raised a brow at him, grinning. "No way, it's not finished."

His pace increased until he was just a few feet away, still pulling that stunning, crooked smile of his. "I want to see the work in progress."

"Hmm…" I placed the pen between my lips and chewed on it thoughtfully, contemplating the answer I already knew. "No."

He lunged for the book and I ducked out of the way, rolling to the side and scrabbling to my feet. He let out an indignant yelp and scrambled after me. I ran across the room, laughing heartily as I held the book high above my head where he couldn't reach. He leaped for it the same way a child did when you teased a toy above their head and I laughed. A light giggle permeated his lips as well, but he never stopped jumping. I eventually moved from my spot and jogged around the space in a circle, tossing the book from hand to hand to try and throw him off. He danced in front of me; hopped from side to side as he tried to follow it. We were just playing - he would have gotten it off me the moment I moved if he could have been bothered - but lethargy and immaturity were prevalent in the backs of our minds and taking anything seriously seemed out of the question.

Then he rammed straight into me and we both crashed down on the bed, laughing jovially at our inane competition. I tried to pull away but he straddled my legs and pinned my arms down, tapping the book with a finger and throwing me a look that said '_I win'._ I smirked at him and shrugged as much as my restricted movement would allow me. I tried to wrench away, but he simply collapsed down on my chest, still laughing. Laughing suited him - I wish he did it more. Our chuckles finally simmered down into heaving breaths, then eventually quietened to simple breathing. I could still feel a smile on my lips - it was such a rejuvenating feeling to smile _for real_ for once. I couldn't remember the last time I had laughed so hard, or laughed so genuinely.

I barely even noticed as he pried open my fingers and slid the notepad out from their grasp. My hand flopped onto the mattress, forgotten and forgiven. He rested his body on his forearm and placed the book on my chest, flipping it open with two fingers. He flicked through the pages, stopping on each one to check the doodles I had drawn; see if any of them made sense. His legs were swinging in the air behind him. His spare hand eventually left my torso and he rested on his fist, but he was that light that I wasn't even troubled by the elbow in my ribs.

His thin brows pulled together in one creased line. "That's not right."

Something in my chest sank at the words. I lifted my head to look at him, and he held up the page with the unfinished picture of him - I still needed to shade it in. He tapped the page mirthlessly.

"Hmm?"

He turned the page around and scanned it again, his mouth pulling into an adorable pout. His ankles crossed. "You made it too handsome."

I raised my brow incredulously. "I'm sorry?" Another high pitched giggle escaped my mouth. I was laughing too much tonight; it was odd. I sniffed and yanked the notebook out of his hands. He made little protest, simply sulking at my laughing at him. I threw the book on the floor and dragged him up onto my chest, pulling my own crooked smile as I looked him sincerely in the eye. "I couldn't make it handsome enough."

Something about what I said wiped the scowl clean off his face. It faded, dilapidated into absolutely nothing until another emotion was placed on his features. His smile wasn't crooked anymore - it was perfectly symmetrical, only a semblance showing. He was smiling for real; smiling because he was happy, not because the situation called for it. It was completely beautiful.

_And all mine,_ I thought wryly as I pulled him down by the neck and crushed my smile against his.

* * *

><p>Lips moved in sync, mashed against each other in a bruising kiss. It was heated, it was tender - it was a thousand emotions swimming in a single moment. It said everything that had to be said, but it wasn't enough. We needed to be closer; to be one being free from the world.<p>

I had spent every day of my adolescent life trying to capture my mother's perfection. This constant perfectionism of mine warped my childhood into a gauche, clandestine era filled with hour after hour of sketching her features. She became my obsession, the object of my _need_ to capture something faultless. But then she died. Nothing else mattered; no other person in my life could fill the Masaki shaped hole that I placed in my soul. But now I had a new model - an even more perfect boy whose countenance I could finally capture on paper.

And I would not be bereaved of him.

* * *

><p><em><strong>I'M DONE! I don't want to write anymore - I wrong at least half of that tonight x_x I'm not even going to edit it because… Ugh… My fingers… My aching fingers…<strong>_

_**But nooo, now I have an English exam to prepare for. I should have done that earlier, albeit, but I felt inspired to write.**_

_**But oh god, my fingers *clutches fingers***_

_**If you could review…? *puppy eyes***_


	6. Chapter 5

_**SORRY FOR THE WAIT! School is finally over so I should have time to write this and hopefully another chapter before Christmas is over; but that's really wishful thinking XD Now, I know their relationship is going at lightning speed XD I never intended this to be quite as long as it got - a four shot at most. But then I added a prologue and got really wordy and it turned out a lot longer than I expected. It was supposed to be a relatively short story, so even though it seems longer I am keeping my original timeline the same. Basically I am a strong believer in love at first sight.**_

_**I'm not making excuses, I promise XD Just reminding you of a few things.**_

_**The song for this chapter is 'Rain' by 'Zangetsu' (The lyricless version, I should add). I advise listening to it when reading~**_

_**I'll just post, yes, a SMUT WARNING! It is finally here so I hope you enjoy it and I hope it turns out okay XD Smut is so tiring/hard/hard-to-find-time-to-write-it-without-my-parents-looking…**_

_**P.s. It was Shiro-chan's birthday yesterday o3o It would've been nice if I could have gotten this out by then, but alas - my fingers could not take the strain :(**_

* * *

><p><em>All secrets are deep. All secrets become dark. That's in the nature of secrets <em>

_- Cory Doctorow_

_**Chapter 5**_

"Ugh… Ichigo! For fuck's sake, hurry up!"

"Yeah yeah…"

"You're killing the mood."

"Just gimme' a break; one second."

The hardest thing was tearing away from his debauched grip. Ripping myself from such craving, longing hands as they clawed voraciously at my shirt tore my heart in two directions - towards the touches and towards the phone I was heading for. Why was I such a coward that I scared to do this? I was that scared about the consequences that I was gladly heading towards the second most idiotic thing I could possibly do (The first, of course, being getting in a car with a stranger; no matter how stunning said stranger was). I was going to make a phone call.

"Are you stupid or something?" The umbrage in his tone stung a little. "Has it not occurred to you that they'll be tracking your phone?"

I stopped when my hand was about half way in my pocket. No, that hadn't occurred to me. But _holy fuck_ it really should have. I ripped the battered, old phone out of my trousers and flipped the lid off, studying the screen relentlessly. I punched several buttons in my haste and felt something freeze inside of me. The phone was turned on.

I whipped my head around to study him, holding the bright screen of the mobile up for him to see. I was surprised to see nothing resembling shock on his face; only annoyance played across his features. I don't think looking back at him was the best possible idea, seeing as my eyes couldn't peel themselves away from the sight. His hair was tousled even more than usual, channels dug through the locks from where my fingers had raked the soft tresses. Even with the exasperated curve of his brow, his mouth was twisted into the licentious pout that had adorned his face just moments before I broke away. My eyes trailed down towards his torso. The impeccable white shirt was creased and folded in unnatural places. The vest top rode up his stomach and crumpled just at the point between his belly button and pectorals, revealing a set of perfectly toned abs - muscles I had traced with my fingers just moments before. He sat with his legs crossed on the bed and rested his hands in the area between the formers. He looked as though he were a small child throwing a tantrum, only it wasn't a tantrum as the annoyance was within reason and he was far too winsome to be a small child. I might have just run back grovelling then if my pride had allowed it.

"So it was on? Sure. That means it either hasn't occurred to them to search it or they are deliberately not looking for you - neither of which I can understand." He smoothed down the shirt and played with the hem. He cocked his head to the side slightly, titling it skywards and flicking his eyes from side to side as though he were remembering something. The scowl began to gutter, twitching into a deeper frown and then completely melting from his face. Petal-like lips parted for an instant before closing again. His head swung down and a sardonic smirk embellished his features. He shook his head, muttering something incomprehensible. "You know what, you can ring someone."

I blinked at him. I… hadn't expected that. "But… what if they track me?"

He was shaking his head and pulling the shirt around his frame before I had finished speaking. "Just ring the goddamned person."

I turned the phone back towards me and started to scroll through my contacts list, pulling a face from his tone. I mashed the down key as I scrolled through the numbers, searching for the particular one that I probably should have memorised. The sight of the name made something inside me wretch. _This,_ I surmised, _is not going to be fun._

I pressed the green button with a shaky thumb and held it to my ear with an equally unstable hand. It was silent for a few, tedious seconds and then the ringing began. It trilled, cutting through the silent evening air. I swallowed loudly. More cacophonic rings bellowed in my ear. I did _not _want to do this, but I was always the masochist when it came to doing what was right. _This_ would hurt less than what we were about to do, but not by much.

Several rings and deep breaths later, there was a telltale sound of a phone being jumbled in someone's hand.

"_Hello, Rukia Kuchiki speaking." _

I had never been so glad for Rukia's prehistoric phone and its lack of caller ID. I tried to stop my voice from wavering, to sound as austere and sombre as my persona would allow me. "Rukia. Do not make a sound. I want you to listen _very_ closely to me and do exactly as I say or else it could have serious implications for the both of us. You are not to speak until I say you can. Now, two taps for yes and one tap for no. Do you understand?"

_Two taps._

"Good. Now, are you in a group and is Inoue there?"

_Two taps. Pause. One tap._

"I want you to say 'Inoue, calm down, and then excuse yourself."

"_I-Inoue-san, c-calm down."_ Her voice was slightly shaky. I could only imagine the look on her face as she spoke the words. I guessed it was similar to the one on Tōshirō's face - eyes ablaze and lips parted as he stared at me. He had definitely figured it out. The only thing more painful than what I was about to do would be staring at his face as I did it. _"I'm sorry, I-I have to take this."_ Then there were footsteps.

I shot a worried glance at Tōshirō. His fingers fisted the thin sheets on the bed and the scowl was back on his face. I didn't recall mentioning Rukia to him before, but he wasn't an idiot. He was far from it. I didn't expect it to take him very long to figure it out, but this was inordinately fast. I had said her name - nothing else. I would have liked to have thought the look was envy, but I think it was more akin to fury. I was wasting his time; _our_ precious time and we did not have that much of it.

"Are you alone?" I asked after a minute or so. There were two taps on the microphone. "You can speak now."

And lord, did she speak. _"Ichigo! Where the hell have you been! Everyone's worried sick about you and you need to drag your sorry ass back here before the police find you because I assume that if you have your phone on then-"_

"Rukia… shut the hell up." Her voice was a high-pitched whine and it annoyed me. I held the phone away from my ear at a reasonable distance and glanced at Tōshirō. He smirked at the conversation, placing his hands on the bed behind him and leaning back. "I'm fine and no, I am not coming back yet."

"_Why the hell not? Do you realise what you're family is like? You're dad is _hysterical_ and Yuzu won't come out of her room and…"_ Her voice went kind of quiet. _"I… I miss you, Ichigo."_

The phone was loud enough that Tōshirō could hear even when Rukia wasn't screaming. He cocked a brow at me and his lips curved upwards. He found this hilarious; I found it disturbing. Yes, Rukia was one of my best friends. I needed her to be there when I felt like shit and I would be there to comfort her when she was crying. Yes, she was pretty and smart and everything else… but I didn't _like_ her. We were close, almost like siblings. But she wasn't what I needed in a girlfriend. I didn't want her in that way - the bile in my throat when she spoke those last words only proved that. Maybe this wouldn't be as difficult as I had thought?

"Ugh… why'd you have to say that?" I thought out loud, scratching the back of my neck and then moving the fingers to the back of my neck. They were soothing, sending a chill down the back of my spine. I moved back to the bed and sat next to the white-haired boy. The bed bounced a little and he hopped up off it in rhythm. That hurt. He padded over to the space in front of me and stopped - stopped dead. I tried to ignore the crooked grin on his face again. It was difficult. "R-Rukia I… I need… to…"

"_Ichigo?"_

She might have said something after that, like inquiring where I had gone, but I wasn't really listening. My attention was fixated on Tōshirō's wandering hands instead. His fingers drifted almost lazily up his lithe stomach, before resting his palms on his torso and brushing up to his neck. He rocked slowly, in a daze of some sort. He wasn't paying attention… it was like he hadn't noticed that I was clutching at the bed sheets as though I would fall over if I didn't - which I probably would have done. He gazed straight through me, catching his lip between his teeth and just _staring _with unseeing eyes. After a pause, he let out a sigh and ran the fingers through the crevices in his hair, dishevelling the strands even more. I felt my fingers tremble at the sight, nearly dropping the phone as they lost all dexterity. His eyes fluttered shut and he exhaled again, sending a stray lock to rest on his temple. My breath hitched when his hands slid down his cheek, catching his little finger on his lower lip. Then, his eyes opened. They glinted mischievously; almost challenging in the iridescence that hid in the corners. _Don't mind me,_ they said. Cobalt rimmed the edges of his irises; ethereal swirls of jade crawling across the blue like vines. He simpered.

"I-I…" What was I trying to say?

He dragged the fingers down his neck and they fisted around his shirt collar. He gave several, frugal tugs to the material before it gave and slid down the smooth skin on his arms. The thin shirt fell to the floor, forgotten. His arms were long and sinewy; milky white and well toned. The vest was a little too big for him, the narrow sleeve draping around his shoulder. It made him look thin, a little too thin. But I knew he wasn't. He was perfect - he couldn't be too thin. His hands drew lines across his body and he continued to sway. I couldn't even tell what he was and I don't think he could either. He wasn't a young sniper on the run anymore; he wasn't a mentally ill young man either. I didn't know what he was. He was a dancer? He was a tease? _He was_ _all fucking mine._ The urge to throw the phone away was incessant.

"_Ichigo, what's wrong?"_

His wandering eyes landed on me and flashed with recognition. It was like he had forgotten I was there in the first place, undressing him with my eyes. He took a hesitant step towards me, hands now dangling by his sides pendulously, swaying as he floated across the room. He stopped just short of the bed and leaned forwards; towered over me again as a piece of hair tickled the skin on my forehead. Another smirk pulled across his face. It was cocky, but it suited him. If my eyes were screaming '_You wouldn't dare; I'm on the phone.' _Then his were arguing back just as fervently: _'Wanna' bet?'_ A supple finger lifted towards my face and pushed a tress of hair out of my eyes. His touch was so heated, but so tender, that I could feel the hot flush seeping up my neck. His other hand lifted as well, but landed on my shoulder instead and its twin moved to my collar. Licking his lower lip, he curled a finger around the neckline of my shirt and pulled down. He hummed at the sight, exhaling deeply; erotically.

"It's over, Rukia. I can't do it," I gabbled, rubbing my flushed cheek with my marginally cooler hand. "Sorry it's over the phone."

His lips pursed and he let out a little 'tut' of approval. _Good boy, _the eyes said. In one, quick movement, he spun around and slid down my leg; his thighs spread to reveal a certain area and little finger caught between his teeth. It was endearing and teasing - it just tormented me enough that I could feel the heat pooling between my legs. His free hand trailed south, landing on the thick band of his trousers, tugging at it prudently. I didn't understand. Just how far did his bipolar disorder go? One second he was austere; bordering pragmatic in his sincerity. But now… I barely recognised him. He was anything but the Tōshirō I knew. He was sultry, licentious - he left me with a benumbing sensation so I could only feel the delectable _warmth_ between my stomach and my thighs. Was this really Tōshirō? When his hand trailed back up my leg and rested on my knee, head lolling to the side and turquoise eyes hidden beneath thick, black eyelashes, I realised that I didn't care. Maybe this was him after all? His back arched away from me and he gasped as those lithe fingers slid behind the hem. His hand went down and down and _down _until he was buried to the wrist in the wide elastic. He looked up at me pleadingly. His lashes fluttered and a light dusting of pink painted his cheeks. _What are you talking to her for? I'm right here._

He bucked into the touch. My stomach stirred as he showed his obvious predilection. He rolled some more, panting; _moaning _loudly at the ministrations. He spun around in his dainty, white socks and faced my leg, positioning himself against it. He began to slide upwards, his face melting into something that screamed the pleasure he felt as he rolled his hips against my leg. He purred through his lips, grinding against my knee for the friction that he needed. I might as well have snatched him up right then because I wouldn't have lasted much longer - his heat scraping along my lower leg only decided it. He was perfect. He was my cliché little princess and I wanted to cradle him, caress him and _touch _him in ways that were most certainly not platonic. It would make me happy. _Inordinately happy _simply for the fact that it was _Tōshirō _who I was touching - not some crazed woman who I felt nothing but affability towards.

"_What? Ichigo? Wait a second! What are you talking about?"_

I didn't care. I didn't want her - that's what I was talking about. How could I was Tōshirō was dancing beside my leg as though it were a pole, swinging around it and grinding against it wantonly with that delicious purse of his lips? I had needed something exiting, some_one _exciting and here he was - presented to me in all his sexual glory. Maybe it was juvenile, maybe it was too fast - but what was to say these feelings we had weren't true, weren't exactly what we felt? I had always believed in love at first sight, that it was what I would end up experiencing one day. I'd never even considered my sexuality; just assumed that I would know who I was meant to be with when I met them, regardless of gender. It was why I was so reluctant to be near Rukia. I didn't love her, I _really didn't want her. _He needed me and I needed him. No… he wantedme and I reciprocated that feeling to the point. There was nothing more to it.

"Bye." Then the phone was shut and on the floor. I yanked him from his crouch and pulled him onto my lap with as much ease as if he were a baby. But I wouldn't do _this_ with a baby. I ran a hand through his snowy hair and tugged his head towards mine; crushed my heated lips to his in a bruising, open-mouthed kiss. I could feel the triumphant smirk against my mouth and desperately tried to ignore it. He thrust his hand against my stomach and lifted my shirt up. It was slick with pre-cum.

"You have a girlfriend," he noted against my mouth. He pushed me down so I was lying on the bed and continued the gentle touches to my abs.

I sucked on his lower lip, not caring if I drew blood. His flavour was addictive, like I wouldn't be able to stop tasting it until there was none left. He kissed me back just as feverishly and massaged the muscles below my pectorals. I'd never felt like this when kissing Rukia; I'd never felt like this at all. I never felt the absolute ecstasy of having someone stroke me, to feel the skin beneath his touch so hot like fire, as though his fingers were stoking those very flames to the point where it burned. But I couldn't pull away. I'd never wanted to feel the heat so much. I wouldn't need the cold that I usually so relished - I needed his fingers tracing over me, to leave smouldering paths in their wake. I managed to move my lips from his plush mouth and trailed them down to his jaw line, licking and kissing the sharp bone there before sucking on the soft skin at his neck. He whimpered, stopping his own ministrations to revel in the touch. Breaths came from my nose short and quick, leaving Goosebumps where they met his skin.

"Not anymore," I whispered… then flipped him over and attacked his neck once more.

It was strange not knowing what he was thinking. Even as I licked the sensitive spots on his neck and he let out desperate cries of satisfaction, I couldn't fathom what thoughts were running through his mind. It made me feel awash with helplessness, knowing that he might not be enjoying this; that his deceptive skills could have extended so far that he could fake this; fake absolute, consecrated ecstasy. It worried me, but it didn't mean I didn't enjoy it. If he was deceiving me then I would take it, because nothing seemed quite as right, quite as perfect as the whimpers he uttered when my tongue swiped over a particularly sensitive crook in his neck. My swollen lips latched onto the area and sucked; sucked viciously and rapaciously, uncaring as to whether it left a mark. I even wouldn't have minded if a violent purple splotch appeared on the skin the next day, lewd as it may seem, for it would prove that he was mine. It would be his own tattoo, his stamp of approval - the chain that was tied around his neck and anchored him to me. And it was all so selfish, so desecrating to think that he wouldn't be able to escape my depraved touch and run to somewhere safer; more lucid in how there was no pain and everything just made sense. But I reckoned that place was with me - that I would be his refuge; that I wouldn't let him be hurt; that I would be his spotter to note when adversaries had locked on to him and where he should next aim. So I sucked on the spot, biting and licking and doing something in between, leaving him in a writhing mess that streamed through my fingers like sand, running out of time - falling ever closer to his utter bliss. I hoped that he couldn't… wouldn't fake that.

He squirmed beneath my touch, clutching at my hair, clothes - anything he could grab. He pulled himself up towards me, hair tickling my nose and thick lashes brushing my cheek. The heated breaths he made as he panted grazed my nape, making the hairs stand erect. A shiver made my skin twitch. I licked a long line from the base of his neck to the shell of his ear, sucking on the lobe to earn another choked gasp. From the gasp I could comprehend something resembling my name and from the fingers that shakily tried to work around the buttons of my shirt I could decipher what he meant. I undid the buttons for him, making light work of them and slipping the shirt off my bare shoulders. I threw it, somewhat skilfully, so that it landed next to his, then pulled the material of his vest over his head and sent that flying towards the two. When he wasn't covered in blood, his body was stunning - it was beautiful even when slick with scarlet but more so when it wasn't.

His pink fingernails raked down the skin of my back, raising bright red welts that I knew would not evanesce so easily. His legs wrapped around my waist and he rolled his hips against mine. We both whined, revelling in the bittersweet friction. His hands found my cheeks, and one snaked around to my neck and pulled me towards him. He rested his forehead against mine… and just… breathed. His breath was surprisingly cool against my flushed skin, coming out low and unhurried as he rested. It was sentimental, it was everything we needed to say; but it wasn't enough. I yearned for him, and the urgency with which my zealous lips crushed against his only spoke a fraction of that need. Some half-strangled noise was uttered into my mouth and his hips rocked again. I broke away and gasped. The heat in my groin was beginning to spread, flowing throughout my body like scorching lava. Only it didn't cool; the heat didn't thin as the sensation began to flow - it only intensified; racked my body in a feeling that made me shudder sporadically.

The carnal, primal hunger in my chest began to drive me mad, made my vision blur into the only things that could provide me any kind of copulative satisfaction - me, Tōshirō and the bed. I threw him down a little too hard and attacked the clasp on his belt, tugging at it and getting caught up in my fervour. He chuckled at me and hummed lightly, reaching down and undoing the catch for me. I allowed a grateful kind of noise before pulling the trousers down, boxers and all.

"Hmm, not bad," I noted with a nuance of teasing in my voice. I almost felt embarrassed how his area was shaved and just how _large _he was… but the sight was too amazing for me to feel anything other than turned on at it. His erection bounced against his stomach, and the impressive amount of pre-cum leaking from the tip made me think, just for a trice, that he might not be faking it. He could forge the expressions - catch his lip and breathe heavily with relative ease. One cannot trick the body.

"Shut up…" There was no conviction in his tone. The words should have come out indignant, yet instead they were susurrated; barely uttered. I wondered just how breathy I could make him speak, just how loud I could make him scream. With a wry smile, I leaned down and took the impressive length in my mouth.

"Ngh… oh _God_, _Ichigo,_" he wailed, fisting his hands around my hair and tugging me towards his stomach. I almost gagged, choking on him as he thrust my head further against his length. Still, I pulled back just enough not to choke and gave a slow, hard suck - licking the head and dipping into the slit so that his pelvis shuddered erratically. His nails scraped my scalp and his hips bucked into my mouth; it was almost painful. But I didn't hate it. I liked it - I liked being able to turn such a callous, uncaring creature like Tōshirō into _this - _a wild, untamed beast driven insane by his lustful desires; lower body convulsing into the one source of heat he was receiving. I pressed my tongue against the underside of his cock and he trembled again, mewling at the attention. It was almost too much, and my own selfish desires made me want to pound into him with no abandon, unaware and uncaring as to whether it hurt him or not. Instead, with a shaky hand, I fumbled with the zip on my jeans and pulled it down, still bobbing my head around his erection. My own sprang out and I grabbed it, pumping fiercely.

I groaned, succumbing to the pleasure I desired… _needed_, even if it was just from my hand. Something coiled in my stomach and I almost stopped moving my tongue just to feel the sensation, bubbling in my abdomen and trickling ever so slowly further down. As I hummed, Tōshirō writhed. His back arched away from the bed; legs crumpling and toes curling. He purred, whined - moaned as the vibrations sent his senses into overdrive. This could never end. I would never want to see him in any form other than this one; squirming deliciously at my touches whilst muttering my name. We were going too fast and it would be all over so soon if we didn't _slow down..._

Easier said than done.

I withdrew from his lower regions, his length leaving my mouth slick with pre-cum and saliva, and reluctantly took my hand away from my own. My erection twitched, begging for some kind of attention. Ignoring it was difficult when it throbbed so painfully. Tōshirō flopped down onto the bed again, and panted. His chest heaved, not dissimilar to when he was ill in the car, and sweat dewed on his forehead.

"Why did you stop?" he breathed, lifting a hand towards me before letting it fall onto his stomach in his fatigue. His lidded eyes blinked slowly, _sensually _and the limp hand began to move; move down and_ down _towards his swollen length. His teeth caught slightly on his lower lip and his legs began to spread. "Touch me, _Ichigo,_"

I grabbed his hand just before it touched the tip, snatching up his other and yanking them above his head to deem them useless. His eyes bulged and he squirmed fruitlessly against my grip. His cheeks burned a bright scarlet and his cock twitched - he liked being restrained. _This might be interesting._ I leaned against him, trying to avoid touching my length against his, and bent over his chest. I took a pink nipple into my mouth and suckled on it, swirling my tongue around the bud and licking it erect. He gasped and moaned, thrusting his hips upwards to try and rub them against mine. I wouldn't allow it, pushing both legs down with one of mine so he couldn't move either. It was an awkward manoeuvre that couldn't have been comfortable for either of us, but it stopped him from moving - the one thing he wasn't allowed to do.

"There's no rush," I breathed against the pert nipple, causing it to bulge in anticipation. I moved towards the other one; already hard with excitement. I swapped between fast brushes and slow licks at random to leave him twisting and turning beneath me. He bucked periodically when I would give the bud a particularly violent suck and whisper my name; asking, not begging, for me to touch him. He wouldn't beg - his pride would not deteriorate so far. Tōshirō would not plead. "We have all night…"

"Ah- Ichi…go… hah…" His breath came hot and fast when I allowed him slight indulgence - trailed my hand downwards for just a moment before recoiling and swiping over the skin of his chest with my tongue. His body was hot, flushed; sultry in how he perspired with each desperate, venerated jerk of his hips. I knew I couldn't continue long - the way my name curled around his tongue weakened my will with every syllable, and his bucks becoming ever closer to my erection only exacerbated the problem. My fingers worked naturally around the free nipple, already flaccid from the warm air, massaging it to life once more. Another breathy moan escaped his lips and I knew I couldn't take it anymore.

I released his arms, fully intending to pound into him right there, but he pushed me back before I had the chance. I let out a rather unmanly yelp when the top of my head hit the wall, yet that pain seemed to wither away into insignificance when something else happened - something much warmer and wetter and a hell of a lot more pleasurable.

"Ngh… _T-Tōshirō…"_ I grunted. My fingers made their way to his head by their own accord and entwined with his hair, pulling him towards me. His tongue swirled around my length; cheeks hollowed and head bobbing up and down so harshly that it almost hurt. Teeth scraped lightly down sensitive skin, leaving shivers to tingle throughout my body. He was _bloody _good at this, so talented in the way his tongue danced around every inch, every modicum of skin - not leaving one bit untouched or anything less than flaming with desire. My thighs twitched eagerly. Warmth was coursing throughout my body, dancing around my core in ethereal swirls of heat and desire that kept me on the edge. My back formed an arch and I fisted the duvet with one hand, clutching his hair with the other. My stomach began to coil and clench as I hurtled ever closer… ever nearer…

"Like the view?" he muttered voluptuously, lips brushing against the head of my erection and sending it bulging and twitching. _What kind of question is that? _He dove right down again and sucked viciously. I could only just see through my half closed eyes and lashes, but I saw him reach down beneath him to touch himself - and I was powerless to stop him. His face melted and he let out a hearty groan, the vibrations sending my senses into overdrive. He glanced up with those black eyes again, gazing right at me; right through me. _Well? Do you? _I could only answer him with a few breathless grunts. Why couldn't I tell him? Tell him that he had to stop - or at least slow down? I wanted to experience _this_, to make itmean more than just a one night stand to him. It meant everything to me; to be here with him in the most intimate way fathomable, sharing everything I'd ever held dear with this man I had met just hours ago. Was it reckless? Was it even fucking real? I particularly prolonged suck deemed all rational thoughts useless and I couldn't even care anymore. He was here now, bowed over me with such reverence, and that was enough.

Then I felt his tongue flick cruelly across the head of my erection once more and it was over. My stomach coiled; spreading throughout my entire body before I quite knew what was happening. I bolted upright, hunched over with a pathetic groan and came hard; fingers curling painfully around his thick hair so my knuckles turned ashen. The way he stopped bobbing and began to shudder told me he was doing the same, only quieter and much less patent. I wondered if he was enjoying it as much as I was; if the fire searing through his veins was even half as pleasurable as the blaze running through mine. It was a worry that I couldn't really dwell upon because I suddenly felt very light and empty; free from all awareness as I stubbornly refused to return from my post-coital high. All logical thoughts were lost; a prerequisite… an indulgence that I didn't have, so mulling over anything other than the indelible warmth I was feeling was completely unthinkable.

I dropped back onto the bed with a sigh. The sensation was beginning to seep away much too quickly. Feeling returned to my feet first, and then my arms; and then other places in the body I didn't bother trying to name. I curled a single finger, remembering the feeling of being able to move it. Proprioception, I think it was called. I thought about the different senses. There were nine of them, or so I had been told. Proprioception was one of them, or so some vapid teacher had once informed me. My jaded mind wandered. Confusion dictated that I think about anything other how _empty_ I felt right now. Tōshirō appeared to have long forgotten his climax and was sat cross legged by my feet again, one hand resting between his thighs and the other languidly playing with the sheets by my foot. He blinked slowly, not real intention behind the movement other than him being much too tired to do it properly. Even after the blink his eyes remained slightly lidded and gave him an overall bored expression - like he hadn't just had sex with some desperate, horny teenager. After all, that's what it was. Just sex. _Just sex. _And that thought hurt a lot more than it should have. It's not like it should have meant anything more.

My head hurt from thinking too much. I just didn't know what to feel anymore.

"Tōshirō?"

"Hmm?" He didn't even meet my gaze. It had been too fast. I knew it. He didn't want to look at me - he probably couldn't. It stung.

"Nothing…" I rolled my head to the side and flung my forearm over my eyes to hide them. The silence hung palpably thick in the air, stuck on my tongue in a bitter tang that I couldn't divest. My last word felt so heavy in my mouth that I wanted to speak it again, to shake it off and make it feel more important. I felt unexpectedly naked at that point; stripped of all my pride and honour as well as my clothes. I wanted to hide and cover myself as if he hadn't seen anything, as if he hadn't _tasted _the poignancy with his tongue. I didn't know that it didn't mean anything to him. Tōshirō was never good at showing his emotions, was he? He constantly hid himself beneath a blank facade; masqueraded himself to protect the one thing he was just about losing - his sanity. It could have meant the world to him and I wouldn't know because he was too afraid to show it.

After all, I had known him for the most part of my life.

I mentally snorted. There was no way I knew him. I'd met the bastard no less than twelve hours ago and I'd already slept with him. What kind of bullshit was that? I had said I wanted to get to know him… but was _this _what I meant? To _get to know him?_ I rolled my arm onto my forehead and glanced down at him. His hair was dishevelled and splotches of my seed were daubed around the corners of his mouth. Undoubtedly a desirable image, bespoke for any avaricious man desperate for something beautiful, some_one _beautiful to whom he could abuse. Tōshirō would do well for that. He was broken, he could act and he was bloody beautiful. It wouldn't take much to rob him of all his pride and twist him into whatever you wanted him to be. A slave, a dancer… _a lover._

Why the _fuck _hadn't I been more careful?

"I'm getting a shower," the quiet murmur came. He rolled off the bed and trudged towards the door, not even bothering to put any clothes on. Not like he would need any.

I had to know; it would hurt more than it already did if I didn't. "Did this mean anything to you?"

He stopped dead; hand on the doorknob and foot placed ahead of him in mid-step. It was barely noticeable, but his head dipped ever so slightly, his grip around the handle loosened ever so slightly; his shoulders sagged somewhat and his whole body began to melt as he thought of something. For once, not noticing the fact that he was naked wasn't a difficult task… because I didn't want to see his body. For once in my life I wanted to see his face, to look past those striking eyes and see just what he thought. How did he feel about me, about _this?_ Just what was it that he thought of when he saw my name? Was I someone that he could trust; that he could rely on to be there whenever he panicked? Was I just there to make him feel good? Did I even fucking mean _anything _to him? All the thoughts angered me in ways I didn't know they could. I shouldn't have been thinking about it. I shouldn't have wanted to stop him right there and then; to turn him around and embrace him, to bring him back to that bed where I would hold him and keep him safe.

"What?"

The mirthless nuance his voice took made me want to hurl. Bile rose in my throat and I felt the need to shout something. "Does _this _mean anything to you? Did it mean anything more than just one night of sex? Do you want something more or are you just happy if we give each other blowjobs whenever we feel the need?"

I hated how it sounded. I hated how needy and selfish I appeared when I uttered those words… and I fucking _despised _the way he tensed when I said them. His hands turned white as he gripped the handle again, hackles rising as he fought down the urge to scream at me. I couldn't blame him, but it didn't mean it wounded my ego any less when he tore the door open and strode through it.

"I'm getting a shower," he repeated astringently. Then he slammed the door behind him with such force that the floor shook and the condiments on the tray toppled over, along with the cup of coffee. Brown liquid seeped into the cream carpet, indisputably leaving a stain that would be far from easy to clean.

I didn't even have the energy to stare after him. Instead, I curled my legs up and pulled the duvet over them. My skin felt cold, so I tugged it over my shoulder and huddled into it. I was freezing all of a sudden, unable to sustain any kind of body heat on my own accord. I felt completely pathetic. I didn't bother to chase after him, to tell him that it was just my teenage worries getting the better of me, that I didn't mean to offend or insult him in any way; that it was just my hormones playing with my emotions and turning me into some kind of green eyed monster. After all, that's all I was: a hormonal teenager - who just wanted sex. I groaned again and tucked my chin into my neck to try and hide myself from the world. I really was pathetic - wasting precious time, time that could have been spent chasing after him, just grousing about how my life sucked. I'm sure my life was a walk in the park compared to his, but I was just a horny, hormonal teenager who wanted sex. I was fed up and I wanted to sleep.

Only I wanted someone else to be there - and that was a completely selfish and unattainable luxury.

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><p><em><strong>I am finding Ichigo increasingly dull to write as. Why did I go and make him so pathetic? XD Meh, I'll get over it. I'll probably switch to Tōshirō randomly in a future chapter.<strong>_

_**I believe this fic has reached the 40,000 word mark now? *is very happy* I honestly never expected it to get this long, I thought 20,000 if I was lucky XD Based on my planning I think this will probably get to 60,000 if I write enough, but you know what they say - quality not quantity.**_

_**Meh, who cares. Everyone feels better when they write more.**_

_**I really want to go sleep now x_x I should probably edit this first but I too ill to think properly. *sniffle* I has cold OTL**_

_**BUT I WISH TO ADVERTISE THIS AMAZING FIC OF AMAZINGNESS FIRST! Go read (and review, review God damnit BC) **__Thegirlwithanafro__**'s **__The A Team__**. It's like, really awesome and doesn't have nearly enough reviews :( And you could also review mine whilst you're here? o3o**_


	7. Chapter 6

_**I have just realised: I turned Ichigo into Bella 'fawking' Swan. Good lord, what have I done? *rocks in a corner* Oh well. This will now lead to several Twilight references in the chapter for my amusement.**_

_**This was abnormally fun to write o3o But getting it out by Christmas Day was definitely a long shot (Seeing as I have a ton of coursework which I have yet to make a start on), so consider this my (late) New-Years Present to you all ^^ Very sorry there wasn't a Lemon, though.**_

_**Song for this chapter is 'Over and Over' by 'Three Days Grace'… again. I like that song and it fits the story, okay? XD Coincidently I was listening to remixes of 'Dovahkiin' for the most part of the chapter (I wish my computer could handle Skyrim…) but yeah…**_

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><p><em>Why do I do this over and over?<em>

_Over and over I fall for you._

_Over and over, over and over_

_I try not to…_

_**Chapter 6**_

Dreams never come often, and they never come soundly. No matter what one might argue, there is no doubt that every dream is hellacious; whether it's one moment of pure fear or simply the utter shame felt when one realises that this beautiful dream can never come true is of unimportance. Every dream ends. Every dream is a lie. Every dream is a nightmare.

My nightmares that evening were of Tōshirō. Fair of face and sunken eyes, chapped lips parted and guttural moans seeping through his teeth. Tender flesh puckered as the butterfly stitches loosened, blood seeping through the gash. It trickled down his side, catching in the crevice by his thigh and running down and down to certain other places - swollen and erect with need; weeping. Perfectly smooth skin was pulled taut over an emaciated, broken body; blotched with purple bruises and white patches where the blood just didn't quite reach. His hair was unnaturally limp, splaying across his face; slick with sweat and grease that gave the tresses a perverted, lustrous sheen. His eyes were hidden beneath grey-mauve lids that hung listlessly, as if his lashes were weighing them down so he couldn't lift them. But then something twitched and those ashen eyelids flicked open, revealing those striking, jade eyes. They were clouded with blue, rimmed with gold - bordering on tears as _someone _touched him - someone that wasn't me. Even though I was there, forming an arc over his writhing body, I couldn't feel the sinewy arms that wrapped around my neck. I couldn't feel his heated breath grazing across my skin. There was no warmth as I touched his body; no reaction as I drank in just how stunning he was with and whispered promises in his sensitive ear. I couldn't even hear the beautiful moans that curled around his lips; couldn't even comprehend whose name they were calling.

I jolted out of my nightmare. Sweat dewed on my forehead, plastering my hair against the skin. Breaths left my mouth hard and fast. I noticed the tent in the bed sheets before I felt it and suddenly regret and hurt was thick on my tongue. I was sleeping in the remnants of what we had done, the scraps of what little we'd had; now dried and forgotten beneath my raging hard-on - only another reminder of how utterly stupid I felt at that moment. The room smelled of sex; it stank of it and I would not be rid of that bitter fragrance so quickly. It made my eyes sting, made bile rise in my throat - but that didn't mean I didn't want it. I needed that smell; needed Tōshirō's own perfume to enshroud me as I curled in it like a baby swaddled in a rotted blanket. I tasted each scent with my tongue, made sure it stayed there - because I needed to keep it locked away somewhere I could reach out to it; keep it close.

_The drapes had never been shut_, I noted dryly as I glanced out of the window. It was not much darker than it had been when we had first awoken from our slumber; only just turning black enough for the street lamps to flicker to life. My nightmare, I surmised, had lasted for only a few seconds - the actual sleep only a moment longer. With a slight groan, I plopped back heavily onto the mattress, the friction making me grunt. I tried to ignore it; tried _desperately _to ignore the images that ran through my mind like a broken record. My cloaked lids did nothing to divest me of the addictive thoughts that were all too lucid in my head, so I rolled over; burying my head in the pillow and squeezing my thighs shut tightly in some attempt to hide myself… only it just aggravated the problem. My muscles coiled and I knew that I would just have to indulge. I was still naked, a fact I did not particularly want to take note of, which would just make the whole thing a lot quicker and much less painful. My hand trailed south and I reluctantly finished myself off. It was a poor, unsatisfying job that left me with no fulfilment, but the bulge in the duvet was gone and that's all that mattered.

My stomach knotted with hunger again and I clutched at it. The skin was sticky. I glanced over to the tray by the door to see if any of the food looked edible, but the gravy had crusted over and everything else looked stale. The coffee had left a rather impressive stain in the carpet, and I could feel my cheeks flush over an impressive scarlet when I thought of how I was going to explain the mess to Jūshirō. My legs felt rather numb when they were placed on the floor, and I was left to fend for myself as I staggered towards the clothes by the drawers. I plopped down in front of the two piles - my grimy, original clothing and the immaculate ones left by Jūshirō. As I rummaged through the pile, I saw that he hadn't left me any underwear. It was a sad resignation, but it made sense. I wouldn't want anyone wearing my underwear - nor would I decidedly buy said person a new set when I had known them for some thirty minutes. So instead of mulling over the fact, I slipped my worn pair on and began to don the new garb. They were reasonably tight, a consequence of wearing clothes bespoke for a withered man; didn't hang off my frame in the sinful way that they did with Tōshirō.

Disgust quickly joined the regret that tasted piquant in my mouth. I couldn't think about such things - I wouldn't allow myself that indulgence. I smoothed down the hem of the shirt and turned back to the plate of food. It was a nice preparation that the host had obviously taken the time to make himself, and putting the cooking to waste would be a shame. I glanced around the tray for anything that could be salvaged, and I noticed the piece of cake that was still untouched. That, I told myself, was supposed to be eaten cold. I picked up the plate and played with the desert spoon between my fingers. It did look nice. I stabbed the spoon down into the spongy mixture and took a helping of it between my teeth. I chewed on it thoughtfully. The texture was nice… shame I couldn't taste a thing. I swallowed it somewhat hesitantly, then placed the spoon back on the plate and set the latter down on the tray. It would be impolite to eat a meal I did not want. I trudged out of the door - leaving my contradictory world of pleasure and pain behind me. I didn't want to see it again.

The hallway that greeted me was just as tedious and dull as the room I had just left, filled with as many bad memories - memories of me worrying for a man who did not need nor want my worries.

Assuming that a house this size would have more than one shower, I traipsed down the carpeted corridor; touching every door I saw on the way as if I would be able to tell if it was a bathroom or not just by the feel of the wood. The hall seemed to trail on forever, for I couldn't even see or remember where the staircase was, and I was unsure as to whether I would even find a bathroom. Maybe it was a trick of the eye - maybe the corridor wasn't as long as I may have first suspected and it was just my brain that seemed to assume it was miles long because I was under stress?

When my fingers traced across the wood of another seemingly dull door, I halted. The morose, metronomic patter of water reached my ears. It was a bathroom. And it was in use.

I chewed on my bottom lip. Tōshirō was in there, he was taking a shower, and the probability that he was naked was one-hundred percent. I wasn't sure why the fact made something spike in my gut; made warmth begin to seep between my legs. I was angry with him - he had betrayed me. He'd used me just for a few minutes of meaningless pleasure and then left me to mourn in the remains. He'd _fucking used me _and for that fact, the stirring in my gut was something completely unrelated. I didn't find the sound of the water droplets mirthlessly endearing, didn't feel something other than shame when I thought of pale skin that steaming water beaded against; bulging for a moment before falling, forgotten, to the floor. I didn't imagine how he washed his hair, running slender fingers through the white tresses, now plastered to his forehead and draping over his eyes. I didn't wonder at all if he allowed his hands to run across his body, caressing each nook with soapy fingers and fluttering eyelids. No, I wasn't thinking of that. I never thought of that.

Not at all.

So I was rather confused as to why my hand rested on the doorknob and pushed down forcefully. I tore into the room and slammed the door behind me, pressing against it in some kind of fear; as if I had been running for my life and took refuge in the closest room I could.

My chest heaved and my eyes bulged at the seemingly unmoving figure before me. The boy didn't turn around in surprise as I would have expected, but simply remained under the torrid stream of water; hands caressing the skin on the back of his neck as he scrubbed at the grime. He swayed gently; rocked to and fro on the balls of his feet as if he were listening to music. His frame curved to the left somewhat. The water rolled off his white shock of hair and dripped down onto pale skin, sliding straight off without even pausing for a trice. Pink tinged the natural tone of his skin from the heat of the steaming shower. No anger was clear in his stance; no astringent intent in that upturning of his nose. Maybe I was forgiven, maybe I was forgotten - but all I could see was the puckered skin by his wound and how it didn't bleed, the perfectly monotonous skin that wasn't dappled with white and purple splotches; the body that was defined and slim, not skeletal and calloused. It was all so faultless and absolutely _normal _that I didn't care whether _I_ was forgiven or not - because _he_ bloody well was.

Donning the clothes again had been a waste of my time, because they were off within the next few seconds. I didn't want to tear them off, to bear myself to the world and _Tōshirō _like I had the minutes before, but took my time instead. It was like the slow undressing of a family man coming home from work - loosening his tie and undoing each button of his shirt with such slow, careful precision that it was almost like a procedure. The loose shirt slid down my arms and floated to the floor languidly. I hooked my fingers in the hem of the vest top and pulled it over my head, allowing that to drift down as well. All the while I kept my eyes fixed on the figure behind the misty glass that remained unmoving, except for that diminutive sway of his hips. I took my time pulling the jeans down, but before I knew it I was stood stark nude once more. There was no rush in my step as I strode out of the trousers and towards the shower, but there was no hesitance either. It was just… boring. Nothing interesting about the way I moved; no expression other than one of lethargic defeat across my face. The visage may have faltered slightly, for when I slid the shower door open the clear dip in his head showed some kind of emotion, whether relief or lament, that made my heart sink. He ceased to sway, simply rested his weight on one foot and rubbed tiny circles about his nape. It was hard to tell exactly why he stopped, but it was unimportant for he didn't turn heel and begin what I assumed would be an inevitable tirade.

The door shut behind me with a brusque crack; effectively making the two of us flinch in our edginess. The air in the shower, although musty, was abnormally chilly and raised an impressive patch of Goosebumps across my skin. A cold shower? No - the water steamed when it hit his skin, fizzing and hissing it was that hot. It was the tension in the air that made the temperature drop; the malevolence in the unspoken words between us. Yes, the atmosphere was aloof and cold, but it was most certainly was not unwelcoming. It beckoned to me with open arms and a crooked grin; gestured towards the naked boy before me as if to say, '_Give it a try; that might be fun.' _It wanted me to fail, wanted me to get hurt again; to feel the utter agony of some desecrated soul subjected to yet another wave of rejection. It didn't try to hide that fact; shouted out to the world of what entertainment my imminent letdown would bring. But it licked its lips enticingly, called to me with a broken smirk and hoarse voice that I just couldn't ignore. It was poison - a bittersweet poison I wanted to taste.

My arms snaked around his neck and my fingers locked across his stomach. He cringed at the cold of my hands. His body was tense, on edge - felt like a wild animal ready to bolt - but then he relaxed instantly. His body melted into my touch, like he'd thought someone else was behind him and only just realised it was me. His hands slid from his neck and slithered onto my shoulders; resting lightly on the skin. He leaned back into me and let out a hushed sigh, barely audible over the intrusive drumming of water. He was light enough that the weight didn't move me, didn't overbalance me in any way. In fact, it fixed my stability - made the dizziness whirring around my head less salient, less invasive.

"It's just you…" he breathed.

I pushed my chin into the snowy locks. They were still soft, even when saturated. "Who else would it be?"

His hand began to move slightly. "I thought you were mad at me." It reached my neck and began to stroke the skin. His touch burned me more than any scalding shower could dare dream.

Of course I was mad. I was mad as fuck. He'd seduced me, guilted me into breaking up with my girlfriend, gotten me into bed - all for a few minutes of meaningless passion. I was mad because it obviously meant nothing to him; because none of it was real in his eyes. I'd thought we'd had something, something more than the frivolous _fling _that Tōshirō seemed to assume it was; and no matter how inane I had sounded he had absolutely no right to belittle that. But I wasn't irate really. How could I? His body began to twist from side to side again, some in embarrassment and some to just break the silence. So I moved with him. My hips turned when his did and sometimes guided them to a new angle. There was no friction… none of that saccharine grinding against bare flesh that was all too bitter in places. It was overly sentimental, and overly dull. No aim, no intentions other than some kind of need to sway. Like dancing - like the sweet, vapid waltzing of two people who had neither co-ordination nor any kind of rhythm. So when he rocked so gently in my grip, just how could I feel anger? It was understandable. Why would I get in the car with him, make some desperate attempt at flirting with him - not run the hell away from him if I didn't feel some sort of attraction towards him? And it couldn't be anything more than attraction, because I didn't _know _him and he didn't know me. He hadn't told me the story of this Kusaka, so how could I have believed he trusted me? He hadn't told me of his family, so how could I trust him? We were too much of a contradiction; black and white, light and dark… good and evil. It wasn't fair of me to place the two of us together in something as sugar-sweet as a relationship. It couldn't work; wouldn't work.

So I'd enjoy what precious time I had left. "Not at you. Never you."

His fingers ceased their sinful rubs on my nape and instead buried themselves in my hair; massaged my scalp into submission, relieving the slight headache I hadn't noticed I'd had. His other hand traipsed down to meet the both of mine and dug underneath them so I rested my palms on his. There was a long pause where the air felt dense, where his impending words still remained unspoken. I held my breath and waited for him to start; nuzzled into his hair to encourage the beginnings of his speech. His head rolled to the side and he rested his cheek against my torso whilst he gathered the courage to begin.

"It meant more to me," he finally said in a small voice, shoulders hunching in embarrassment, "than just a few minutes of fun."

Stupefaction and steam blinded me - I blinked a few times in my awe. That wasn't right. He didn't care. He'd left me behind in that room without a word; left me to rot in our filth. If he even cared a bit then he would have stayed behind, tried to protect my feelings somehow - even fucking apologised for what we did. But he didn't. He walked out of the room; only feeling guilty because of my pain and how it radiated through the brittle air. He didn't care; he couldn't care less. He was toying with me, playing with my emotions; bringing me yet more hurt in an attempt to rid me of the previous pain. Why was he doing this again? Something twanged in my chest at the thoughts. He pitied me. He was saying this out of _fucking pity. That_, I thought sardonically, _was a sin_.

"You don't mean tha-"

"Ichigo Kurosaki, I mean it and I don't appreciate you telling me otherwise." His eyes fluttered shut, like he was awash with fatigue, and then squeezed together tightly as his voice rose and hackles shrunk. "What did you expect me to say? '_Yes. You, who I have known for just over a day, mean more to me than just a wild romp on the run?' _Because I'll fucking say it, Ichigo. You mean more to me than that - you mean a hell of a lot more that and I don't want you believing for one second that you don't."

And in that moment all the tension left; all the unease burned away like kindling, the last remnants guttering for a few meagre moments before extinguishing themselves for good. With his words in the open, our grips tightened unconsciously. By the last syllable our hold on each other was fast and indelible. We were wrapped in each other's arms as if we couldn't let go, like if we did we would drown or burn or just _hurt_ too bad to ever hold each other again. The anger was there, just simmering in the back of my mind, still paranoid that he could be lying to me. I didn't trust him, but I did. It was a strange contradiction and a bitter reconciliation, but it was that confusion which somehow made me hold him tighter. After all, that's what he was. A contradiction. Multiple personalities all mixed into some candid, childish, debauched concoction that could have me writhing in pleasure or trembling in fear in one, heated moment. It was that notion that excited me. You never got what you expected with Tōshirō Hitsugaya, and I was okay with that. I was ecstatic because it was what I always yearned for - someone to keep me on my toes, to make me question every second and every nerve-wracking moment I spent with them. It was everything, _everything _I had desired… but not one scintilla of what I expected.

"I-"

"I'm not finished," he sighed. "Ichigo, I trust you. You don't know how hard that is for me to say, because I don't trust _anyone. _But you've gained that trust, so I want you to know that you can't take advantage of that; you can't take it for granted. I won't forgive you if you do. No secrets, Ichigo. No lying and no suspicions."

I adjusted my position. My heels hurt from standing still too long. The irony wasn't even acrid anymore. It was tasteless filth that hurt my teeth and stung my eyes. I let the silence continue for a while. His fingers wrapped around my hair and, ever so gently, tugged my head forwards. I understood the implication and pressed my lips to his collar; tasted the sweet skin there. I pecked a light line of kisses along his neck and up his jaw, and then simply stilled my movements. I sniffed at his skin. It smelled of shampoo; tasted like it as well. I'd barely noticed the lather dripping down each individual tress of hair, bulging then falling to the floor every couple of seconds.

"Quick, isn't it?" I murmured into his neck. He shivered slightly at my cool breath. My thumb drew lines over his palm. "Whatever this is."

His neck craned slightly to allow me room to kiss the skin, but he also twisted it to look back at me. My lips still puckered by his jaw line, but I glanced up to meet his gaze. I couldn't help but grin when I saw his face for the first time in much too long. His eyes were iridescent, gleaming mischievously whilst retaining some of that childish innocence that made him seem oh so beautiful. His eyebrows were no longer pulled together, but cocked coyly in a teasing manner that said '_Are you stupid or something? '_A wry, crooked smile was painted over his features. I'd forgotten how much I loved that smirk.

"Don't you believe in love at first sight?"

I should have faltered at that; should have run away, screaming as I went. But I didn't. And for some reason that didn't surprise me. _Love at first sight_, it was a cliché phrase that described us exactly. That was what this was - love at first sight. But phrasing that out loud ruined the moment, made it seem too official. I wouldn't say what we had was loose, but it wasn't formal. It wasn't something you could endorse with a vicar, a couple of vows and a tearful 'I do'. It meant so much more than that. It wasn't the kind of thing you could label; it was too special to give it a name, crude as that may seem. I didn't want to describe the lewd feelings we felt for each other and the potent amiability that sat with it, hand in hand. I didn't want to over think it… just to _feel _every modicum of pleasure that it offered. It was more than 'friends with benefits', more than a relationship, more than love. It wasn't the need either; it was the complete _desire _to be with him which drove us to make it work, to make it happen. It was by no means infallible - it was fragile and precious, easy to break, impossible to repair. We'd proved that today; seen a crack forming in the china of our manifesting relationship, ready to crumble, easy as packed dirt. _Easy as falling. _

So I shook my head. "Hmm, but I don't want to name it."

His body made a gentle movement and I felt my heart skip a beat. He wanted to move. I didn't want him to go - he had to stay here, stay where I could see him; where I could protect him. I curled my arms around his chest protectively, trying to inhibit his movements _somehow_…but those forceful, coercive twists of his body were too persuasive to ignore. When my stronghold slackened somewhat, I fully expected him to wrench from my vice-like grip with such intensity that I might stumble and fall… but he did the complete opposite. He turned heel and strode forwards - the one thing I had hoped he would never do… only I couldn't help but feel something bordering on rapture when 'forwards' was me. He pushed me flush against the wall, ignoring my yelp at the icy temperature of the tiles, and pressed his body against mine; legs intertwined with my own and arms locked firmly around my neck. He gazed up at me with those beautiful, teal eyes and let a tiny smile break across his features. He rocked back slightly, then rolled forwards and stood on his toes so he could look at me with a little more ease.

"Then," he breathed sensually, tugging gently on my neck to coax my head forward to meet his. "Let's enjoy whatever we have together, for as long as we may."

I felt a cheesy grin slap over my features. I rested my forehead against his and breathed. "No measure of time will be long enough… so let's start with forever."

He jerked a brow at me, opening one somnolent eye and letting a bemused sniff cut through the air. "Isn't that a quote from '_Twilight'_?"

I laughed out loud. It was a pleasure I seldom indulged in, a stipulation I had rarely allowed myself to disclose. And it felt… great, for want of a better word. Nothing could describe being allowed to laugh with the one you fell for; the one who would understand you without fail. The laughter bubbled for a second, but it was just enough. I let my head droop down and pushed my nose towards him, angling it slightly so it slotted neatly around his.

"It's not at all odd that you know that," I chuckled, then pressed my lips against his eager ones.

His back formed an arch towards me and his knee rubbed my thigh. It wasn't intended to be endearing, just a manifestation of his contentment. We'd made up; argued and gotten back together as quickly as two young children quarrelling over a stuffed toy. We were both happy, completely and childishly happy. We felt young again, like it was our first kiss with our first crushes. Maybe it was. We'd never kissed like this; never spoiled ourselves and attacked each other just from the need to _feel_ each other completely, to take emotions and share moments. It had always been out of lust; out of some selfish desire that, although legitimate, was not pure or innocent. There was none of the sweet lip-lock of this tender kiss that we shared, none of the affectionate moving of tongues against each other, rubbing in just the right spot… I hadn't even noticed him part our lips and grant himself entry, but it didn't matter. Nothing licentious about it, right?

He pulled back for just a second to catch his breath. "You knew it as well," he meekly retorted against my lips, then latched onto me again like a leech.

* * *

><p>"Don't forget to come and visit again if you can! I siphoned some fuel from my car into yours, so you don't have to buy some, and I packed you up some water and a few biscuits as well as some hand gel in case you can't find yourself a shower. It's not much but it will keep you somewhat clean. Oh! I should probably give you some deodorant whilst I'm at it! I wonder if I have any spare…"<p>

"It's okay, Ukitake-san. You really don't have to do this for us."

Jūshirō spun around to look at Tōshirō, a bemused look on his face that screamed he didn't understand why Tōshirō would feel awkward in such a situation. "Nonsense, Hitsugaya-kun! This is the least I can do!" Then he turned back to the white room and glanced around the area.

Jūshirō appeared to have taken it upon himself to become the role of mother hen when our departure was imminent. The bag that had been thrust into my arms was now a growing pile of biscuits, bottles and basic sanitary items that our host seemed to think we needed. He skittered around the pristine kitchen, opening cupboards and shutting them again in the very same instant, muttering to himself as he wondered where the deodorant was. I was unsure as to why he would keep deodorant in such a place as the kitchen, but my question was answered when he very loudly excused himself to go look in the bathroom. He left with an equally loud cough and a stumble.

I stared after him blankly, probably looking as gormless as a confused chicken, when I tried to comprehend what had happened. Our stay at the large house had been rather short and mundane. After the incident in the shower (which hadn't escalated to anything more), we'd only spent another two nights in the mansion. We'd both insisted in staying in the same room to try and prove less of a bother, to which Jūshirō raised his brows suggestively and quickly complied. Not that anything happened. Nothing had to happen. During that time, Tōshirō had taken it upon himself to tell Jūshirō of the situation; of how we were on the run due to him shooting an MP and how I had 'tagged along'. Jūshirō seemed fine with it, not even surprised in the least, and told us we could stay for as long as we liked. So that led to a rather uneventful couple of days. Common sense had dictated that we weren't allowed out of the house, which meant Tōshirō and I had spent the most part of our 'visit' sat in front of the television - watching a conveniently timed marathon of '_FullMetal Alchemist_'. I was surprised that he hadn't heard of it, especially so when he stared at me as though I was a madman when I told him the plotline. I simply ignored his frequent scoffs and obvious contempt whilst I watched the episodes (They were the final few ones; the best ones). He seemed displeased when I noted that the main character sounded quite a bit like him, especially so when I pointed out they were of similar height.

"Why is he insisting on doing all of this for us?" I leaned over and asked quietly, just in case the withered man decided to return.

He dipped his head and turned it slightly, as though he would have scratched the back of his neck nervously had his hands not been otherwise occupied by two bags of biscuits. "He owes me. Well, he feels like he does. It was nothing really."

I contemplated that. It would explain why he was trying so hard to be the perfect host; not fussing over the mess we had made on the carpet (and the bed), sending us on our way with enough food and sanitary items to keep us going for weeks, happily taking in a fugitive and a 'hostage' without so much as a care for the consequences on his part… they were all the actions of a guilt-ridden man who felt utterly predisposed to repent for _something, _whatever that something was. It was the actions of a man who _owed_, and owed quite a lot. Thoughts ran wild inside my brain. What on earth had Tōshirō done for him? Was it something to do with the army? That was the place they had met, wasn't it? That very notion nearly answered my question for me. The look in Jūshirō's eye when Tōshirō questioned him wasn't just confusion. It was hurt; sheer pain that bordered on rejection. It was like Tōshirō's acknowledgement and disdain towards his benevolence was too hard to abide, like he felt as though he wasn't doing enough for us. It was like he couldn't understand why Tōshirō didn't want the favours returning. What on earth could have possibly made him feel that way? Like he was indebted with his life and his little saviour didn't want to believe it?

Of course, there was only one answer.

"How so? What happened to him?"

"That's a very funny story," a somewhat withered voice answered, accompanied by a somewhat withered man holding an aerosol bottle in his somewhat withered hands, "that I would be happy to divulge."

We both froze instantly. The room turned a little colder, making me shudder a little. I daren't look him in the face; didn't want to see the obvious hurt that would cloud it. His words had broken pathetically towards the end, tipped with venom towards the start. It was a memory neither man wanted to remember, that neither particularly wanted to reveal. Jūshirō's voice no longer took the cheery, slightly broken nuance that I had heard before. It was dark, challenging; trying to remind Tōshirō of something that had happened. It was a wicked, malevolent sound that shook my bones and made me grind my teeth. This wasn't Jūshirō - even I could tell that. It was too spiteful, too sadistic.

"You really don't have to…" I muttered quietly. I didn't want to know anymore.

"No, no; not at all! I would be glad to tell you!" Derisiveness was heavy in his tone. I didn't have to look at him to know he was glaring at Tōshirō; nor did I need to lay eyes on the latter to note that he was staring back with the same, black intensity.

"Ukitake," Tōshirō began without honorific. He was calm, something his probable look did not suggest. "He doesn't need to know."

Jūshirō threw his head back and laughed; laughed callously and cruelly. It frothed like rabies, bubbled like acid; sent my teeth grating and grinding and the cringe-worthy sound. A break in the noise made me whip my head towards him, and something was wrong. His face didn't seem to show any of the malice his voice curled around so easily. In fact, it was quite the opposite. His eyes were drooping, along with the corners of his mouth. His lower lip quivered slightly once his chuckle had ended, and he flipped his head to the side to look Tōshirō in the eye. He was sad_. Sad. _I wouldn't have guessed.

"Oh, but he asked." It was more of a question than a statement, yet a sad resolution that he almost didn't want to admit. With the limp of a man in pain he walked over to me, placed the bottle on top of the pile of condiments then sat down on one of the breakfast stools by the table. He hunched over slightly and rested his hands on his thighs, gripping the gaunt muscles and kneading them in his anxiety. His long hair cascaded in front of his eyes, shielding them from whatever emotion they showed. "I'm sure you can tell that I am… ill, slightly, Ichigo. I won't quite get into what exactly I have, but I'll let you know that in cold conditions it can become rather dangerous for me to move around. My throat acts up and I begin a violent coughing fit. In terrible weather it often leads to dizziness, hallucinations and sometimes fainting." He paused to take a breath before continuing. "Before me and Hitsugaya-kun were assigned to be snipers, we were foot soldiers on the frontlines. Aizen never told the public that we were in the Afghan war, but I'm sure Hitsugaya-kun has told you all about him and his scheming. But anyway. It was winter one year, and Afghanistan can get extremely bitter weather in winter, contrary to popular belief. I was taking to the weather with great difficulty…"

There was a hushed crack next to me, and when I glanced over I saw that it was Tōshirō clutching onto his bag so hard that the biscuits inside had disintegrated. It might have also been his knuckles, seeing as they were sheet white from clenching too much. His jaw jutted out and his murderous glare was aimed directly for an ignorant, or simply just flouting, Jūshirō. The phrase 'If looks could kill', sprang to mind. If they could, Jūshirō would be scarlet pool on the cream coloured floor.

"I was somewhat… dazed. I can only remember being extremely unaware and even more confused, but I decided that I needed to go outside. I thought that I was too warm, which obviously wasn't the case, and thought that… a walk might cool my head. So I stumbled outside, completely disregarding the fact that we were on the frontlines and the trenches weren't all that tall…"

"Ukitake…" Tōshirō growled dangerously, bitterly; the thin plastic of the back now sported eight finger shaped holes. I could almost hear him gritting his teeth.

"A gunshot fired as I was walked out of the trench and Hitsugaya-kun pulled me out of the way… and took the shot."

"_**Damnit, Ukitake!**_"

A thump followed by a snarl told me that Tōshirō was not at all pleased. My eyes flickered towards the noise, and I only saw the crumpled bag on the floor before a white flash kicked them across the room and stormed towards the door. The plastic ripped apart quite impressively and a shower of biscuit crumbs exploded on the floor. His hands fisted and unclenched every second as he mumbled something incomprehensible, perhaps a colourful string of profanities aimed at the white-haired man. He paced back and forth and the curses began to come louder and more frequent. My fingers twitched anxiously around the bag. He was distressed, but that seemed like I was over-thinking it. I didn't need to label the clear pain of remembrance on his features. His hands flung from his sides and fisted in his hair, and his head began to twitch sporadically, like he heard voices. No telling that he couldn't. He squinted and his back hunched forwards, shaking his head even more; tearing his hands away from his hair as they proved useless again, like using them was too much effort or too painful… I wanted to go to him; to tell him that I'd look after him and wouldn't let Ukitake hurt him anymore but he seemed well past reasoning. His face had turned a slight red that was dappled with white as though he couldn't breathe. His lips were parted and his mouth was turned down. Distressed didn't even begin to describe him. _This _was anguish, _agony. _

"Fuck it…" he finally rumbled, making for the exit and yanking it open. "Just fuck it." He slammed the door shut.

Silence. Just fucking silence. I'd never hated anything as much right then as that fucking noiseless room. I wanted to yell at Ukitake, make him pay for what he had done; make him owe more than he already did. Being in debt his life was not enough at this point, he could owe everything and everyone in it. I snapped my head towards him, fully expecting to yell at him, swear at him; do everything I was not allowed to do to him. But I stopped, mouth half open and brow half pulled into a frown. The look on his face was of nothing but regret, nothing but remorse. He hung his head low out of shame, his hair completely hiding his face - save a few gaps where I could see his eyes, sunken and hollow with lament.

"He's not the bad guy, Ichigo," he said quietly. His shoulders hunched. "He thinks he is; that's why he's embarrassed that he saved me." When his gaze lifted towards me, I couldn't help but stare into those contrite orbs. Something about the way Ukitake carried himself… it meant that every emotion he felt… every single feeling that bubble away inside him was clear on his face. But he was an expert liar. He had to be.

"He's had it rough," I answered simply. I averted my gaze elsewhere, focusing on a cupboard handle that was suddenly very interesting to me. It was a nice handle - round and ergonomically appealing. But my focus wasn't Zen-like enough for me to ignore his nod and slight turn of head.

"Don't let him think that, Ichigo," he told me. It was a desperate, pleading assertion that was more of a question than a statement. Something told me that Ukitake… Jūshirō felt strongly towards Tōshirō. In what light I didn't know, nor did I want to, but it definitely hurt him to see Tōshirō act in such a way. It didn't seem like the kind of worry that came from a mentor or a friend. It was like the concern of a brother, someone who would watch the pain from afar; never interfering but always watching… watching and waiting for the inevitable. He cared about Tōshirō a lot more than he let on, both to the world and to Tōshirō himself. "He's a good man… a very good man and you can't let him think otherwise."

I thought about that for a moment. Just a moment, because what the host was saying made complete and total sense. I'd never once doubted that Tōshirō was a good man, never thought that he was wicked or corrupted in any way. He was far from it. He viewed the world in a way where he saw _everything, _saw everything that was evil and everything that was moral. He was somewhat omniscient, able to comprehend and understand just what people thought and believed just from one look at them. And it wasn't a narcissistic ability. He never claimed himself to be God-like or to be better than anyone. He just _knew. _And there was no hesitation when I thought that not many would be able to understand how he saw things. I most certainly knew I wouldn't. I never fully thought I could understand him, but in lieu of my misgivings I knew I would be able to sympathise with him. If he told me his views then I would, indubitably, be able to grasp what he meant. Even if just a modicum.

"I won't," I finally conceded, then strode towards the door. "I'm sorry for the mess."

"Not at all."

And then I left behind a bittersweet world; one that would pretty soon lose all importance, but one I would never fully forget.

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><p>I hardly judged the boy when I saw a cigarette stuck between his lips, incandescent at the end with the tobacco beginning to turn ashen. One hand was by his mouth, two fingers curled around the rancid cancer stick to pull it away from him when he had to breathe, and the other was by his shoulder. He gripped the muscle there like it was bleeding, like it hurt <em>a lot<em>. It probably did. It didn't take a genius (of which I was not, by no means) to figure out there was the faint trace of a scar from a bullet wound marring the skin. It had evanesced into nothing; barely adding a hint of texture to the upper arm it rested on… but the wound was still there, even if only noticeable to him.

He drew a long breath from the stick, then pulled it away from his mouth and exhaled deeply; his mouth forming a little 'O' as he puffed out rings of the poisonous gas. He breathed out low and deep until he had no breath left to blow, by which time the cigarette was back in his mouth and he began to breathe in again. The sight of it made me shudder. He was ruined enough as it is, lung cancer was not another problem he should have to deal with. Then again, he hardly seemed to care as his eyes fluttered shut and he blew out another cinder-coloured cloud. His grip on his arm tightened a bit when I began to walk towards him, my heavy footsteps undoubtedly interrupting his trance. His lids lifted slightly so he could look at me closely, then shut again when he confirmed it wasn't Jūshirō coming to check on him.

"No judging," he groused and took the cigar away from his mouth. He tapped the paper twice and some of the tobacco fell onto the floor. He then threw the stick after it and stamped down on it with his converse. His foot paused, hesitated as he thought of something - then he twisted his leg several times to crush the cigarette into nothing.

I took my place on the wall beside him and leaned against it casually. He didn't scoot away from me like I thought he might, which was always a good sign. "I wasn't gonna."

"Good." He looked off into the distance, not really staring at anything in particular.

I should have kept quiet at that point. Now wasn't the time for talking or anything sentimental, so why I put down the bag of food and grabbed his hand was beyond me. He whipped his head around to look at me. Look, not glare. The glint in his eye was mischievous and somewhat confused, but not angry. He stared at my face for one, prolonged second, glanced down at my hand then looked back at me. A gentle smile adorned his face, showing a few of his teeth like he was about to begin laughing at me. I was surprised that it didn't embarrass me.

"You really are a soppy one, aren't you?" he teased. He squeezed my hand back. It was gritty with biscuit crumbs.

I offered him a quick smile, almost laughing at myself in the process. "Sure. I memorise '_Twilight_' quotes, don't I?"

The laugh that followed was a pleasant surprise. I loved it when he laughed. He looked admittedly sexy when he pouted and scowled, but when a mild smile decorated his features it made me melt. My knees felt weak, and I felt like a twelve year old girl swooning over some famous actor. Not the manliest comparison, if I say so myself, but it wasn't completely untrue. His chuckles eventually faded into a few amused sniffs, but his lips still upturned at the corners.

"I can't complain. So do I," he pointed out and I giggled.

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><p><em><strong>Sorry, that ending was a little pathetic. I can't leave it on a cliffhanger for reasons I will explain in a couple of lines.<strong>_

_**Lol what the hell? This was not**__**what I expected this chapter to be like. I just started writing and **_**this **_**happened XD Oh, how this story writes itself **_

_**So yeah. Back to school tomorrow. I'm pretty sure I have a German exam coming up pretty soon so most of my free time will be spent revising for that (German exams consist of learning a page of German. Like, actual paragraphs, not vocab. OTL). I also have something which I could do with spending any time not revising doing… so I will temporarily put this story on a very small hiatus. Not a long one, I should be back in a month or so.**_

_**This is only just in case. I might get it out on a similar time scale, who knows. I'm just warning you that if I don't post anything in the next month then this is why. So just in case, I decided to not leave a cliffhanger on this so it's not too bad if it's a long time before this gets updated XD**_

_**Reviews please? I do reply to them all, unless you post anonymously… of course… so feel free to just post something little to boost my ego o3o**_


	8. Chapter 7

_**We're back! It's been a while since I've written on this but I'm raring to go again. And to come back with a bang, we're gonna be having a little change in POV. Yup, we're bringing Tōshirō back for just one chapter. And some long awaited smut! You should all love me~ **_

_**Sorry for the wait though. I'm currently in the middle of exams (And there aren't even that many so I'm dreading next year ._.) so I don't get much time to write :/ Also, I managed to lose my Microsoft Word so I've had to write this on Wordpad, which doesn't contain any grammatical checks (which I rely on heavily o3o;). I went through it but I'm not very good at editing so please tell me any errors you spot ^^**_

_**This chapter and song are pretty much the reasons why I wrote this story, so it's a fitting chapter to return to. So to those who have gone away for a bit because of the general… well… the fact that this was getting a little bit slow - this is for you. I hope I can bring you back :)**_

_**The song is called 'Far From Home' by 'Five Finger Death Punch'.**_

_**If you haven't already then I'd suggest adding me to your Author Alerts list. This isn't just a one off story, I plan on being relatively active on FanFiction (Well, as active as I can be with exams and me trying to keep drawing) and I also have another story up called 'Momentary Delusions' which I'd like for you to go and check out ^^**_

_**(P.S. I suppose many of you will hate me for this chapter, come to think of it. I have a good reason for it all, don't worry~)**_

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><p><em>Another day in this carnival of souls.<br>Another night's sins end as quickly as it goes.  
>The memories are shadows, ink on the page,<br>And I can't seem to find my way home…_

_'Cause it's almost like your heaven's trying everything to break me down.  
>'Cause it's almost like your heaven's trying everything to keep me out.<em>

_-Five Finger Death Punch_

_**Chapter 7**_

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><p><em>-TŌSHIRŌ-<em>

* * *

><p>Home. It's a bit of a vague term. Home is the place where you feel welcome, where there is a warm hand awaiting your return. Home is the place where nobody can hurt you – where those childish dreams of safety become real, like burglars and robbers and murderers would bounce off some invisible shield around the house because it's <em>your <em>home and nobody can take it away from you. Mummy would be there to greet you in her pink little pinafore and daddy would swing you in circles as you giggled madly at his touch. Smiles would be in abundance and laughter would flow freely. _Home _was not this decrepit shack that lay before my eyes. And looking at it, I couldn't bring myself to understand how it ever had been. No kind mummy or thoughtful daddy lived at _this _place. Nobody would be here to present me with a home cooked meal – only a fridge filled with beer and stale pizza would greet my decanted soul. Bile rose in my throat at the notion. I'd left the place for thirteen fucking days and now it felt like an entire new building, like a deserted bank or some aggressively mundane skyscraper that felt intimidating to be around. Of course, it was neither as impressive as a skyscraper nor as dull as a bank, but the sentiment was all the same.

I clambered out of the car, putting on my brave poker face and furrowing my eyebrows a little less to try and not show the excruciating pain my side was causing me, then placed my feet on the gravel path and wobbled. The ground had to be shaking, there was probably an earthquake going on, because there was no way I could be tottering this much. I glanced back at Ichigo, who was stood fast, and felt a pang of guilt. Why it was guilt, I'll never know. Maybe I felt guilty for dragging him into this, for bringing him into my pitiful affairs that I should have kept to myself. Maybe I felt guilty because _he _was being the strong one through all of this. I was the person who had cried, who had panicked and shrieked like a banshee when he reminded me of Kusaka; I was the one who fucking led him on then led myself on in the process. That scathing twinge in my torso returned again and I just barely resisted the urge to clutch at my shirt. _Best night of my life _didn't quite describe that, didn't quite denote the happiness I'd felt at the time and the pure melancholy when I realised I could never go all the way. I'd wanted to, oh how I had fucking wanted to, but the mere thought of it… Kusaka just invaded my brain. Nights with him were passionate and rough, but I couldn't even remember for the life in me why I was scared of them.

But either way, it felt different with Ichigo. The guilt probably came from the fact that I was stuck with him and he was stuck with me; and neither of us seemed to mind.

The car door shut with a large bang and several hundreds of birds fled for their lives into the safety of the gulley. They shrieked with terror, wings pounding as they all fought to get the lead; fought to run away from this accursed place. I envied them. I envied how simple it was for them to leave. Nothing tied them down but their nests and their bonds. A flap of their powerful wings and they were away, away from this damned place that we humans ruled. I suppose that old nursery rhyme mocks us, lies to us in its twisted lyrics. We can build all the machinery we wish but the little swallow can still fly away with a beat of his tender wings. As for me? I was tied down like a ball and chain, clinging to Aizen's leg and forced to curtsey to his unlawful tyranny; his fucked up despotism which dictated that I had to be his little lap dog. He still coerced me into tending his every beck and call because for some goddamned reason I _owed him my life_; and I couldn't in the life in me remember why.

The fortnight before, I hadn't had to think of such things. I'd always kidded myself, always assumed that when I threw down my hat and stomped on my badge that all ties had been cut. I'd always thought that every last thread that chained me to the military and _Aizen _had just… floated away, floated away into the distance like the thin silk of a spider web - had pounded its wings and flown into the distance with a shrill shriek. Aizen had been the last of my worries. Shooting at the emperor hadn't been on my list of things to do. _Ichigo had not been there. _And for some reason I couldn't bring myself to regret that. The carrot-top wasn't anything like a beacon of hope, his cliché little light shining cliché-ly from his cliché little light bulb. He didn't hold me in the crook of his arms like a princess or fight for my honour… he was just a normal kid. He was a normal teenager who seemed to respect me for who I was; respected me for the desecrated, wizened war veteran I was. He ignored the hollowed eyes and the bloodied hands and treated me like a _human being. _And I didn't think that was too much to ask.

A dry smirk spread across my lips. He'd turned me into a right soppy fuck.

I glanced around once and felt the world begin to close in on me. The rolling hills of the snow-capped mountains that bordered the valley my house lay in suddenly felt too big and too constricting. The spiked pine trees that were sprinkled around the dale seemed claustrophobic; like any attempt of escaping would induce days of bushwhacking and weeks of aftercare for the scratches. The gravelly path now seemed adamant to prevent any absconding I might feel the urge to engage, because the stones would flick from under my feet and make me sprint that much slower as I ran two steps forwards and slid four steps back. I furled my fingers once then spread them wide as my hands became clammy. A far off drumbeat thudded in my chest and I could feel the panic rising. I felt like a stranger in my own home and it was not at all a comforting sensation.

Ichigo blinked a few times beside me, his mouth hanging a little agape as he glanced around the place. It was hard not to feel anxious for his opinion of my little home. I expected him to balk at the sight, to stare at me and cock a dubious brow and show any other sign of distaste. It was not a very Ichigo thing to do (Because I'd known him for a week and so knew him oh so well), but I still felt like he might just do it. He might just offend me somehow - by giving his welcomed opinion of my humble home and I would obviously take it the wrong way. I tugged on my thumb nervously when he leaned back against the car door and inhaled deeply, seemingly taking his time to inspect the picture around him. My eyes darted around curiously, flicking towards the trees where I heard a hint of movement. I glanced at it for once second, deciphered what it was then glanced forwards again to inspect _that _view. As if on cue, a piece of wood from the roof tore itself away from its hinges and dropped onto the veranda with a pitiful '_thud_'. I barely flinched at the noise, but Ichigo completely cringed at the intrusive sound. Any birds that hadn't fled beforehand now squawked and bolted.

"I guess you've gotta be quiet here, haven't you?" He was referring to the birds.

I dipped my head and let out a little smirk. The words came naturally and with their own little rhythm. "_Little swallow of vibrant coat flies here every spring. I asked, '_Why do you fly here_'. She said, '_For here, spring is beautiful_'_."

His own sardonic grin rivalled mine. "Now there's a poem I haven't heard before."

"I wouldn't expect you to. It's Chinese." I glanced up towards the trees where the birds had fled. "_Little swallow, let me tell you, it's even more beautiful this year. We've built large factories and built new machines. So could you please settle here forever?_"

In the distance I could see the factories – their long chimneys reaching for the sky like inky tendrils, poison billowing from the rims and puffing into the clouds. The sky bled out into dusk; greys and crimsons daubing the heavens with their toxic dye. The funnels seemed to choke out a never-ending stream of smog, releasing all that taint naturally - as if it was breathing. The clouds curled in on themselves then exploded in a mass that covered Tokyo with a sheen of fog. It was raining in the corrupt city.

"Doesn't seem we can keep them down for long, does it?"

Then he did that overly sentimental thing he seemed to be accustomed to: he slithered an arm around my waist and pulled me into his. His fingers gripped into the curve of my body, but he still held his hand high enough as to not jab me in the bullet wound. How kind of him. I chewed nervously on my bottom lip when I felt him lean down towards my crown, my heart fluttering pathetically in my chest. _I didn't want this. He was too close. _I tried as I might, but I _still _ended up leaning my weight into him and revelling in the comfort of his lips against my forehead. That tender mouth puckered at my temple seemed to make me forget… forget something I couldn't even remember anymore.

"Mmhm. You've gotten yourself a nice place here."

He began to rock slowly side to side, and I found myself swaying with him as his hips undulated. I wasn't even sure that he was aware of what he was doing, but the way we waltzed together made blood pool in my cheeks, made a small smile touch the corners of my lips. It was normal, it was easy. It was just like the time in the shower but I didn't feel the unnatural urge to kiss him, to _hold _him in my bloodied hands. Ichigo himself had other ideas as he gripped just that little bit tighter and I found myself turning towards him to huddle into his side. In the cool breeze he smelled like sweat and dirt and vanilla and _Ichigo, _and I just wanted to drink it all up.

I had to break the moment. _Think, Tōshirō. Think. _"Too many bears," I muttered lamely.

His slight swaying faltered and he tensed somewhat, then he ducked down to capture my gaze fiercely. "Bears?"

I pulled away from his grip in an action that would leave him wondering, thrust my hands into my pockets and began to saunter towards the decrepit old house. The strands of my heartstrings clawed out of my back, searching to be with his. "If you live out here, Ichigo, you've gotta fine-tune your hearing."

He still seemed a little blank. "Huh?"

With a quiet sigh, I jerked a thumb backwards towards the forest which I had not laid eyes upon in weeks. "If you turn 156° clockwise you will notice a black bear between those two trees. But don't look directly at it; we wouldn't want you aggravating it, now would we?"

There was a short pause when I knew he was turning around slowly, a longer pause when he scanned the trees and then a rather unmanly squeak from the direction behind me. The speed with which his lean legs moved surprised me, but I still couldn't help myself but laugh as he darted past me and towards the safety of the veranda, tripping many-a-time on the way. My mouth was still upturned when we reached the front door. His face was bright red and he stared at the beast (or a little to the left if he had heeded my warning) to ensure it wasn't going to move. When he was satisfied the bear was far enough away, he beamed at me and strode confidently through the dilapidated door. I could only smile and follow. _Him and Sam'll get along well._

* * *

><p>The thing that hit me first was the rancid, acrid stench of <em>something<em>. There wasn't even a direction, just a general, poignant taste that was bitter in the back of my throat. It stank of bleach and formaldehyde and eggs; a combination I wasn't even sure naturally existed. My hands flew to my nose in a rather childish action and it took all my willpower not to run out of the house. My eyes stung and tears formed in the corners. Ichigo had a similar reaction, pinching the end of his nose and rubbing at his eyes with his forearm. He glanced at me once to check if I was okay with the smell but the cupped hands over my face seemed to say it all. He waved an arm vaguely as if it would deter the smell.

"Wha' dat fmel?" he cried nasally.

I barely even registered his response and instead moved to open a window, then another, then another… then I opened them all and dug around for _anything _that would negate that stale smell. Clasping a can of oven cleaner, I pushed the top down hard enough to break it and spun around madly to coat the entire room. The bitter smell of lemons was not at all comforting, but it was better than whatever it was that stank up the room beforehand. I creased my nose and rubbed at my eyes. Two weeks did _not _create that smell. But once the citrus scent filled the room entirely, I finally identified the pong as some kind of rotting flesh. Watery eyes darted around the kitchen. I hadn't left any meat out, had I?

Of course, it only _then _occurred to me that I was vegetarian.

"Someone's done this," I said plainly. I ripped off my jacket, set it down on the table and instinctively began flexing my muscles. I cricked my neck to the side and began walking towards the room where I was now sure the smell was coming from. "This ain't something two weeks does to a house."

He scuttled after me somewhat hesitantly when the stench became stronger and more painful to inhale. I gritted my teeth and strode on, even when a wave of evaporated, putrid flesh slammed into me like a lorry.

But then it hit me.

_It _being the realisation that Sam hadn't greeted me yet.

That wasn't right. I refused to accept it. There was absolutely. _No. _ _Fucking. Way…_

"Oh my lord…" Ichigo's quiet voice said it all.

He'd reached the room before me. I hadn't even been aware that I had stopped but even then I knew I had backed up a good few feet when I saw Ichigo tense. Horror seared through my bones and every fibre of my body screamed at me that it wasn't true; that it was all a sick, twisted dream that seemed too vivid and too real. My fingers trembled. My bones felt like putty as I brought my hands up to my hair. I clawed at the tresses. I stepped back once and felt a sickened gasp travel up my throat, then get caught between my teeth. _This isn't happening. It isn't real. _

_Oh, but Tōshirō. How real it is._

Ichigo's ashen face only amplified just how real it was. As he turned, his eyes were bulged and a nuance of green tinged his cheekbones. He looked like he was going to puke. I _felt _like I was going to puke, but I only gagged. I only coughed up air and choked on how disgusting it tasted. Why couldn't I puke? Why wouldn't the bile just rise in my throat? _Are my insides taunting me as well? _I clutched at my stomach and willed for the past year's food to come up. But there was nothing. I was empty. I was lonely. Oh how alone I felt. My temples started pulsing and I thought I might fall over then and there. My stomach churned horribly but _still _nothing came. An agonised shriek caught itself in my throat. I wouldn't scream, I wouldn't cry. Not in front of Ichigo - he couldn't worry about someone like me. But the look on his face was clear. He was fucking worried.

_I haven't even seen his body. _The mere thought of seeing Sam's carcass made a sharp throb appear _everywhere. _In my head, in my throat, in my chest, in my stomach - everywhere hurt so badly when I thought of him. I needed Sam. He was my rock; my crazed, gormless rock that could hold his liquor better than most bar-hoppers. How the hell was I supposed to live without him? Why the fuck had Sam been so selfish as to leave me alone like this? My fingers curled but the action only made me feel sicker, so I loosened my body before I did anything else. This wasn't Sam's fault, was it? He hadn't gone and died on me, had he? _…_ Maybe he was just hiding somewhere, ready to pounce on me for leaving him for two weeks. _Yeah_, that made more sense! He'd run up any time soon, licking my face and drooling all over my nose. Feeling a little more confident, I released my nose and my stomach and strode into the room.

_What a delusional twit you are._

Any food I'd ever eaten made itself known then, leaving a squalid puddle of sick on the laminate flooring next to me. I took it upon myself to stare at that puddle, because it looked like a cat in a mug compared to the sight before me. _Cat in a mug, cat in a mug, St Bernard in a mug…_

My eyes tore themselves from the puddle of bile and towards the rotting body on my living room floor. His ribs were cracked open like angels' wings and his insides were currently infested with maggots, all munching away happily on the stomach contents of my dog. I felt myself pale and felt myself retch, and I saw Ichigo consoling me from my peripheral but I couldn't hear anything and I couldn't smell anything. All I saw was Sam on the floor, the outline of a bullet wound clear on his shoulder and dried blood crusting across his mottled fur. His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth in a way that would have been comical if he wasn't completely and totally dead. When my eyes moved to his face, I felt a deadpan permeate through my visage. I'd always prided Sam on having a reasonably handsome face for the dog he was. His jaw did not droop like most others, his eyes were bright and perky; sometimes I doubted he even was a St Bernard. But now, I stared at his bloodshot eyes and wilting jaw and realised just how average he was. He was nothing special. Here, he was just a dead dog. Nothing more, nothing less.

All I wanted was for him to meet Ichigo.

Poker face still donned, I began to walk towards him. I twitched a finger and I felt my hearing come back. I heard Ichigo call my name and I sort of wished that he would leave; sort of wished that he would stay. Instead, I kneeled down in front of the body and reached out a tentative hand to stroke his head. I half expected him to wake up then, to bark at me as if to say _'Gotcha!'_…but the iciness of his fur only proved that he never would. I gulped, forcing back the tears, and said the first thing I could think of. The first thing that might hide every emotion I'd ever felt.

"Damned dog couldn't even stay alive."

I pushed away from Sam, all my senses returning at once so I could smell the piss on the floor around the dog and the stench of whatever shit the maggots had left behind. _Urine? _They'd left him alive. They didn't even kill him with one bullet. They'd shot him in his shoulder and left him to bleed. I could just imagine him whimpering on the floor, crying out for me like he always did when he was in pain. He'd lived for hours, maybe even days. Maybe he hadn't even been shot in that spot… maybe he'd crawled like a terrified worm to this room, because that's where I always was. That's where I always had been. But where _had _I been? I'd been relaxing on the sofa at Ukitake's house without a care in the world.

I didn't allow myself to think of such things anymore. I turned away from him and stalked towards the kitchen, past a bewildered Ichigo who seemed adamant on pulling me into his embrace had I not ripped away from it so harshly. _Just hope he understands. He can't see me cry. _

Instead, I sat down at my overly gaudy table and pulled my laptop out from a shelf I had made across the table-legs. I pushed the button and it fired to life, still relatively quick seeing as I'd used it a grand total of four times. Ichigo shuffled to take his place beside me, his fingers resting languidly on the back of my chair. I barely suppressed a shudder. In a few seconds, the desktop was appearing on the screen. I'd never really bothered changing the background, so on the black screen there was a single icon in the middle, which I had inventively named _'My Program'_. I'd hoped that just having the one application on the otherwise empty laptop would prevent people from snooping, but somewhere in the back of my mind I briefly wondered if Aizen had poked around once he was done slaughtering my dog.

When the program started up, it appeared to be yet another black screen with nothing but a white, blinking cursor in the upper left-hand corner. I tapped a few keys to check if anything had been hacked, but the cursor still blinked indifferently at me. Satisfied, I held down the _'Shift', 'Ctrl' and 'Alt Gr' _buttons and began to type in a password. I could feel Ichigo's intrigued stare burning holds in the back of my head. The program sprung to life, sending many pop-ups my way. All the text flashed at me intrusively, bringing up '_Warning' _and _'Error' _messages. Ichigo seemed a little disconcerted, but I didn't bother assuring him that it was a security thing. I typed in my password again and the pop-ups disappeared, leaving a rather neat little program entitled _Military Database_.

Ichigo eventually moved behind me and rested his palms on my shoulders. They twitched a little, eager to move southwards, but stayed resting. He seemed more than a little interested in what I was doing, and the breathing that was steadily moving closer to my neck seemed to prove that. Eventually, I jumped a bit when his chin landed on the crook of my neck and his nose appeared in the corner of my eye. His lips were pursed in curiosity.

"What's that?" he asked, pushing his nose forwards to gesture towards a small box that looked a little like a search engine.

"I hacked my way into the military's database," I muttered, typing a series of numbers and letters and other characters that made the sentence look more like a censored word than a code. "I learned from a master. They don't notice anything is wrong unless I'm actually using the program, and even then I've masked it so it looks like an internal problem." A black pop-up screen flashed once in the corner and then a new tab opened – this time a blue screen with a continuous stream of data, more appearing every second. "I'm trying to find something."

Sam seemed to have pieced something together in my mind, made things make that much more sense. What the _hell _had actually happened that day? Why was I even on the run? As I waited for more information to configure on my laptop, information configured itself in my head. There hadn't been any blood around the person I had killed. In fact, I don't even remember the person falling. I'd watched him carefully, watched the bullet rip a hole through a piece of decorative curtain a good few metres to his right; unbeknownst to most thanks to the silencer on my gun. It wasn't even anything like time had stopped - nobody had even come for me. I'd stared out of the window blankly, looking at the silver-haired man I had supposedly shot, while I heard Aizen's gruff voice mutter over a speaker: _'Detective Ichimaru Gin is down. Shooter: Hitsugaya Tōshirō'_. Time had moved quickly, the seconds hand on the clock appeared to be ticking twice as fast as it should have, but it had still felt like hours that I waited there. Nobody had come to arrest me, nobody had spoken; I'd just felt the bullet slam into my gut and knock me through the open window.

Falling had been scary. It had burst my eardrums and windswept my hair.

The frantic whirring of my computer's hard drive dulled to a mild buzz and all data disappeared from my screen, leaving many files. Some were just word documents and some were pictures, all reports or scanning-ins of newspapers. But two particular files, their names only a long string of numbers and letters, piqued my interest. One sealed, one not. I clicked on the sealed file and began the painstaking process of extracting it, reading each bit of information I could. It was a video file and apparently one from a CCTV camera. Four-eighty by seven-twenty – 100DPI. I decided to look for the location while I waited, and my jaw clenched at the sight. _Tokyo_.

Barely controlling my reaction, I began to look at the details of the other. They were identical.

It was around that time that the sealed video flashed up as now officially _unsealed_ and I knew that they would be onto me now. But I couldn't care. I pressed the play button and watched in horror.

There was me. It was quite clear that it was me – my hair looked fluorescent on the horrible quality associated with CCTV footage. I'd entered the room from the bottom left-hand corner and approached Aizen. There was no sound, but I remembered that conversation as clear as day.

_Alright then, I'm here. Whaddya want me to do?_

_If you could set up by the window then you can tell us just where the best place to assassinate an emperor would be._

So I set up, striding smoothly towards a table that was conveniently placed by the window; an oversized bag in tow that housed one of my favourite guns. I'd lovingly named him Hyōrinmaru. I could have watched myself pulling out the tripod and setting Hyōrinmaru down but Aizen's movements were far more interesting. He leaned over to speak to a man with raven black hair and bone-white skin. The man (who I had instantly dubbed as an 'emo') nodded once and ducked down to whisper something to a young girl. She was quite pretty, her brunette hair pulled back into a neat bun atop her head, but when she dug into her pocket and pulled out a revolver my opinion of her lowered dramatically. Her large, bugged eyes and shaking frame confirmed that she was indeed not the person who shot me. But then she handed the pistol to Aizen as though it was an ancient relic, and I knew. He took it and petted her neat head lovingly. She beamed.

I could barely stand watching the next part. I'd aligned everything perfectly and then I was now looking through the scope and pulling out so many contraptions that I couldn't even name anymore. I muttered things to myself, being my own spotter as I took in temperature and humidity. I then pulled out a notepad and jotted every detail down. I could remember the feeling of satisfaction that had enshrouded me, that feeling of calm and serenity that I had handled the gun with. I watched closely as my fingers twitched at the trigger, eager to pull but knowing I couldn't. I remembered standing to lean out of the window before I even did it on the tape. I felt the stillness of the wind before I saw myself jot it down. I remembered jumping over to the window another time and glancing around to check wind direction and where it would be least noticeable. I remembered breifly thinking that this window was the best place to assassinate an emperor. I remembered the sight of the gun aimed at my forehead perfectly.

Ichigo's grip on my shoulders tightened significantly when we saw my small body tense with fear, tense at that perfect aim. I'd lied when I said I didn't know why I was scared. Aizen was a bloody scary man. The look of indifference on his face, the triviality with which my life seemed to hold clear across his features... but it wasn't just that. I could tell when a shot would injure and when a shot could kill.

Never had anyone aimed so perfectly.

_Shoot the Emperor, _Aizen had said.

So I did. Film-me turned around slowly and poised himself in front of the barrel of the gun. He pulled the trigger without hesitation, completely intending to shoot the Emperor for fear of his own life. The look of confusion on his face wasn't visible on the camera - he looked just as indifferent as if he had shot a can of _Heinz Beans_.

I turned away at that point - screwing my eyes, waiting for the sound of the gun shot that wasn't to come. I waited. And I waited. The silence was fucking panful, making my ears ring uncomfortably and my temples pulse. I sat stiffly, until I felt Ichigo jump behind me. Of course it was now. My brain had rejected the thought - hoped that Schizophrenia had made up that part in my mind. But I hadn't. I whipped my head back and watched myself fall out of the window, watched the little brunette girl jump up and down in excitement as I disappeared out of shot with nothing but a path of neon blood in my wake. Aizen smiled mirthlessly and placed a hand on her head, patting it gently until she settled down.

The film flickered to a stop, finally emitting a small blip as the window flashed to white and closed. I stared mutely at the screen, as if waiting for something to happened. Ichigo's grip on my shoulders loosened softly.

"I-"

I clicked onto the next video before Ichigo could even finish, leaning back into my chair to watch what this film had to offer. The quality of this video seemed to have drastically improved, the colours less intrusive and greyer; the footage less pixelated. The man walking into the shot was not me. He wasn't me if you squinted. The man's hair was long and shaggy, greyer than mine and he was a helluva lot taller. His stomach hung out of all sides of his trousers, the belt too tight to even look mildly comfortable. He sauntered into view with a swagger that did not belong to me. When he stopped to speak to Aizen, his acting was so poor that I didn't even dignify it with a laugh. His hands waved above his head as if to make a point; he cocked a rippling hip like he was some kind of whore. Aizen's subtle dramatisation was more impressive, for he simply stood the way he had in the first video and nodded along as the fake flailed before him. When he was finished flapping around, the man turned towards the camera as if to check it was face was like a basketball, only one that was deflated and bulging in all the wrong places. His nose looked like he had been punched several times - and even on a CCTV camera no-one could mistake his eyes were brown. My jaw jutted out at the poor imitation. A faux-me should have at least been given contact lenses. I didn't have to be conceited to know that the glassy, marble eyes I owned were far and few to come. He quickly turned away, realising that the view he gave was one that couldn't fool an idiot. Unless said idiot was blinded by cataracts and money.

My fingers balled into fists across the keyboard. "That little fucker…"

"Tōshirō," Ichigo began but I was beyond reasoning.

"Don't you fucking _Tōshirō _me. Do you even realise what he's done?" My hands smashed twice onto the keyboard, mashing the buttons deep into their sockets. "I've been accused of something I haven't even fucking done! He's entered my home, made me try kill a person then _still _blame me when the idiot's alive; he _shot my fucking dog _and had the nerve to leave him in my house to rot_... _and what can I do about it? Jack-fucking-all, that's what! Aizen's got control of everything in this goddamned twisted country so I haven't got a chance in hell of getting out of this! _And you_!" I hunched my shoulders over and gripped my hair, pulling at it like I could tear my scalp off. Maybe it would be better that way; maybe I could claw at my brain and the adamant pulsing of hatred might cease, if just for a moment. "I have to look after _you! _I borrowed your car and you seemed to think that was an invitation to come along! _I can't take care of the two of us, Ichigo. _I'm just one person! Just one measly, fucking person who couldn't get away from Aizen for long enough." I stopped for one long second as tears bulged in my eyes. Everything came crashing down at that moment. Everything had gone wrong, and no amount of logical thinking would change that. The saline water rolled down my face. "H-he shot m-my dog… S-sam's gone, Ichigo…"

"C'mere," he muttered quietly, his fingers trailing slowly over my shoulders and down towards my pectorals.

A beautiful shudder racked my entire torso, making my fingers tremble in anticipation and despair. The footage showed me quickly whipping around and shooting the emperor, then jumping out of the window as Aizen moved to apprehend me. _The fucking lies. _I accidently pressed a key on the keyboard as my fingers wobbled, and a large, intrusive error message appeared on the screen. A countdown started and I could feel myself panicking. The data flashed every few seconds, and eventually the screen flickered to black. But that was not the reason for my worry. His fingers had dipped into the hem of my shirt and had begun to draw aimless lines across my skin. I swallowed deeply when those fingers reached my nipples and caressed them like they were satin. My lip caught between my teeth and I gasped slightly, slouching back into the chair then arching when he tweaked one nipple particularly roughly. His breath was warm against my neck, water droplets forming at my nape from the heat and the sweat. I tried desperately to ignore his advances, to not lose control the way I had in Ukitake's room… but it was hard. No matter how hard I thought of other things, of completely unrelated and repulsive things, my mind still wandered to his hands and his presence. He was a gaudy, cheesy excuse of a man who seemed overly sentimental – like it would make me accept him. I wouldn't let myself do that. I would _not _allow him to do this to me. But becoming attached to him had been so simple; as simple as falling… as simple as falling in love…

One sinful hand removed itself from my shirt, much to my dismay, and reached over to shut the laptop screen. All my work lost. But I didn't care. They were going to arrest me. They had their so-called proof and the top men of this sick country were too busy counting yen to give a crap about the legitimacy of said evidence. I could stop running now, because any chance of absconding this unjust constitution was officially gone - taken away with the birds. I licked my lips once and spun around on my chair, straddling it and hooking a leg around Ichigo's. Fine. I needed to forget about all that. And here Ichigo was, willingly giving himself to me with that kind of gleam in his eye that told me that he wanted this; that he wasn't just willing be that intimate just out of pity. I laced my fingers through the hair on his neck with a kind of gentle passion, tightening my lips before curling them in an almost aggressive snarl that was in no way intended for him. I yanked his head forward and pressed his heated lips against mine. I kissed him roughly, without care and with so much lust that I could feel him moan against my bare mouth. He tried to open his mouth but I just pushed further against him. I could feel my nose getting crushed against his cheek. Our lips separated and I and stared into his eyes, already deep with his libido and gleaming with confusion.

"He shot my dog, Ichigo."

Ichigo looked down and to the side, seemingly guilty for some reason. "I know."

"They're coming for me."

"I know."

"Any minute now." Because they would. I'd be an idiot if I didn't think they were tracking me. And they probably put two and two together when they noticed Ichigo's phone turn on. Why they hadn't gone after him at Ukitake's house was a simple reason. It wasn't like he'd done anything wrong. He was nineteen. For all they knew he could have just upped and left home - so his disappearance wasn't nearly as bad as mine. Of course, his phone was still on. In his pocket. In my house.

Only an idiot wouldn't figure it out.

Then Ichigo must be an idiot, because he picked me up there and then and latched onto my lips. I felt myself melt into his solid body, melt against him because he felt so _real_, and wrap my legs around his thin waist whilst he carried me down to the only room he hadn't been in - my bedroom.

"We have time," he muttered against my lips then resumed his attack on them.

And it was all I could do not to devour him there.

* * *

><p>His hands were everywhere. One second they would be fisted harshly in my hair and the next they would be tenderly caressing my cheek. I felt my hands fly to the scruff of his neck and bring him closer to me, like he wasn't close enough already - like being welded to his body wasn't nearly intimate enough. He stumbled back a little and nearly tripped over his own feet, but I still pressed against him. I clung onto his head, folded my arms around him so that he couldn't leave me. It felt so real. He was so real. I wanted to climb inside him and wrap myself in the wizened tendrils of his care because I just needed it that much. But I couldn't. Climbing inside a person is not physically possible, so I did the next best thing. Just as he staggered through the door I dug a hand into his form-fitting shirt and clawed at his bare skin. I ran a thumb over the hard muscle of his stomach, like I was searching for a seam or a hidden door. His entire body recoiled at my touch and I felt a small ounce of offense, like my it wasn't just the cold of my fingers that made him shy away. Losing all confidence, I clutched his shirt instead and tried to make my movements less heated, less desperate. My tongue moved less, now just a languid lap against his own instead of the audacious need it had been filled with before. I screwed my eyes shut so tightly I thought they would split and hoped that my demeanor hadn't been compromised so much; hoped Ichigo wouldn't notice my pure want.<p>

Ichigo wasn't one to be fooled. He tossed me down on the bed and tore off his own clothing with such urgency that I was sure he wasn't even going to do something as simple as make love to me. There was no time for that. We both needed this - we needed the proximity of another human being in the most explicit form, and it had to happen now - before Aizen took us away from one another.

Failing to hide my lust-ridden grin, I pulled my own shirt over my head, and by the time I was finished I was presented with the hard ripples of Ichigo's chest looming over me. His arms now pinned me against the bed; so with nowhere to go but up, I leaned on my elbows and pressed my lips against his once, and meaning to leave it at that. But I found myself doing it a second time. And a third. And I couldn't stop myself as I cupped his face and planted kisses over every inch of skin. He exhaled, breath tickling my cheek.

"We don't have time and you know it," I muttered between each purse of my lips, then scraped my teeth over his jugular and sucked harshly on a spot behind his ear. _God, _I needed this.

He pushed me against the bed once more, hand flat against my naked chest, and peered down at me. His mouth formed a tight, mirthless line and his eyes burned deep with the kind of might that was akin to a God's, like he was Zeus recreated on earth - like an Adonis given authority. He was some kind of deity blocking out all light - a solar eclipse. I felt my skin crawl under the scrutiny. It was like I had offended him somehow; like my comment had suggested he was impotent or a complete and total prick. Either way, my body sank into the bed beneath his smoldering gaze. Coffee eyes gazed down upon me and walnut-muscles flexed effortlessly - and all of a sudden it wasn't me who had survived the war, and it wasn't me with the libraries of information tucked away in my brain. It was him. Merlin, Ozymandias and Lincoln all reincarnated in this one celestial body. Eons of wealth and knowledge and secrets flickered in his eyes like the burnished light of the evening.

And I'll be damned if it didn't turn me on.

Plush lips grazed against the shell of my ear. "We'll make time."

So I attacked his mouth, moving as slowly and as quickly as I dared. I purred with delight when his tongue flicked out to meet mine, rubbing sensually against the insides of my mouth. I pondered his scent, wondering how he still tasted so damned addicting. Our teeth clacked together noisily but the interference was naught compared to the gain - the feeling of being so close to him but just not sated enough. It was excruciating and I wanted more, but wanted to just stay like this forever. But time was a luxury we did not have.

I took dominance, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him down onto the bed. Before he could even yelp I took a dusty nipple between my teeth and rolled it gently, lapping my tongue against the bud and massaging its twin. A strangled groan flew from his mouth but I was too busy to sneer; too busy latching onto him and suckling like a lamb to notice just how submissive he was being. His heart was made glad too easily, to quick to change roles. But I was too busy to lower my opinion. I reached down to unbutton my trousers, all too constricting with their stiff denim, but was halted by a coarse hand.I stopped my ministrations and glanced up to look at Ichigo, his eyes like polished wood and a slight sheen of sweat coating his forehead. His chest rose and fell gently, nipples now pert and alive with anticipation. But what excited me was his bruised lips and the purse they formed, jutting out with something that sort of resembled fear. Fear that I could not comprehend and didn't even try to until those swollen lips began to move.

"Not again," he whispered, and I knew what he meant. I had indeed offended him the last time. For the second time in my life I had gotten scared, too scared to even let him enter me, and finished myself off. What an offense I had committed, one so unspeakable that I felt myself flush at the thought. We had both _needed _that kind of intimacy so badly and I had denied us that. _How selfish. _

"Never." I undid the zipper on his trousers instead and pulled them down, just enough to free his throbbing member, and took it in his mouth. The thick, husky scent of him made my eyes roll to the back of my head and I did the only thing instinct would allow me to - suck. I bobbed my head fast and reveled in the desperate whimpers he let out. My tongue scoured the sensitive skin on his turgid cock, pressing against the underside and flicking over the head. A low groan escaped his lips, sort of resembling my name but getting cut off when I dipped my tongue into the slit. His hips twitched eagerly, but he held himself down. He wanted to make this last the way it hadn't before. It was like he didn't realise just how little time we had, how literally I meant _any minute now_. I tried to push those thoughts to the back of my head but the urgent, nagging image of Aizen stalking into the room with his poker face and his gun just made me cringe. I focused on the proud member before me, throbbing anxiously for something tighter, something more avaricious.

"T-Tōshirō..." His voice barely resonated. It was a quiet sound of awe, a silent reconciliation. I'd won. I wasn't even sure what it was I had won or what I had done to come out victorious but we both knew that I'd won. Maybe his heart, maybe dominance - but the way his tongue curled around my name sounded like the suffix '_-sama_' should have been placed at the end. He looked as though he was biting his cheek. I bit my own in response.

_No time. _I didn't want to think it but it was still there. I released his cock with a loud slurp, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and gave a quick grin. Rather gracefully for the action, I clambered onto his lap and straddled his stomach, hands lightly trailing up and down his chest. He let his head flop back onto the pillow and sigh gently when I brushed over his nipples. His eyes looked so heavy and so tired, and if I didn't know him any better then I would have suspected he was bored. But his mouth curved upwards a little and I knew that all he wanted to do was lean back and _feel _everything. And I was in no position to deny him that.

I watched him cautiously and dipped my hand downwards to touch my own, weeping erection. My entire body convulsed when the pad of a finger brushed against the covered length and it was only then that I realised just how much I needed this. Even if Ichigo'd protested to my touching myself then I wouldn't have been able to stop; the heat that rumbled through my body was too delicious to let go. To give into temptation, to succumb to the fear and just jerk myself off was so tangible, so palpable in the air - my hand moved into my jeans on its own accord and I was barely even aware of Ichigo's objection. My hand was clammy with sweat but it made the motion all too smooth and slick that I didn't even care that I was becoming uncomfortably hot and perspiring too much to be considered erotic. My hips bounced sporadically on his lower stomach, rocking into my hand with every ardent thrust. _So hot, so good, so-_

A hand grabbed my wrist and yanked it away from my crotch, leaving my entire lower body bunching in anticipation and shuddering with need. My vision was cloudy when I realised my eyes had been shut, so I blinked them open to see a very blurry Ichigo staring at me. A sharp pain went through my neck as my head lolled forwards, bouncing back into place and rolling around on the joint for a bit. I felt really tired and _really _unsated, now my only source of pleasure was trapped between Ichigo's slick hands. He wobbled around a bit, his voice sounding metallic like tin cans clacking together. I frowned as I watched his lips move, nothing but the static coming from them. I blinked and let out a little _'huh'_ in confusion, and waited for him to repeat. He still warped and twitched in my fiery vision. I wasn't even sure what he said, because something else entirely cut into my hearing. Something so hushed and far-off that only a dog could hear it. A kind of dulled, mundane sound that shouldn't have worried me as much as it did.

_Tyres on gravel._

To panic was my first thought - to stop everything and escape out the window. It was tempting. Tempting to run into the trees where they wouldn't find me and finish myself off with Ichigo in mind. _Ichigo. _My vision suddenly smoothed out and I realised Ichigo hadn't noticed the car. It couldn't have been that close then, could it? Trying to be inconspicuous, I mentally held my head in my hands and did quick math. If Ichigo couldn't hear it then it wasn't close enough to be of an issue, right? The gravel crunched lightly rather than with the harsh cacophony that came with someone speeding. Aizen was probably half a mile away.

Still, not enough time.

My thighs trembled and my forehead creased like a curtain, but I still managed to rise onto my knees and wobble towards him. I was so blinded by the pleasure before me that I was barely aware of myself tripping over his legs and falling into his arms. He pushed me up with a small chuckle and I managed to chuckle back a little. Although it was less of a chuckle than a tired sniff. I pushed myself up off his chest, this time careful to ensure I wasn't jabbing him in the ribs, and undid the button on my jeans. I slid them down just far enough to show my ass then sat straight down on Ichigo's length, ignoring the pain that came with it. He protested a little, panicking and asking if I was all right but his concerns were silenced when I moved, rising up and down slowly at first then bouncing wantonly on his lap. Each jab against my prostate sent strands of warmth and sweet cold drifting through my body, moving too slow through my numb limbs to really register with my brain just what was happening. I heard myself sighing, then grunting, then moaning with each rise and fall of my hips. Ichigo's groans seemed deeper and quieted with awe. The crunching got louder, loud enough that the man beneath me stopped his moans and the bucks of his hips for long enough to listen to it. I screwed my eyes shut and sat down hard, drawing a strangled cry from him, but he just reached up and held my waist so I couldn't move. My cock twitched eagerly at the hands on my bare skin.

"It's them... isn't it?"

I barely had it in me to nod. "Please. Move."

The urgency in my voice must have hit him because with only a second's pause he flipped onto my back and thrust his lower body forwards with enough force to shunt me across the bed. I moaned at the heat filling me, I moaned at the fact it was Ichigo who was inside me. He struck the right place each time, shooting sparks across my vision and making my brain feel like cotton wool. I felt numb and so very alive at the same time - like I was blind but could see so much more. It was like I could see inside him, see every feeling of happiness and stress and worry that pooled in his soul. I felt for him, I really did, but the pleasure was too great to dwell on it. The sounds Ichigo made only added to my ecstasy. The bed creaked beneath us.

The car pulled up outside the house.

"Nngh, I-Ichigo..."

A door slammed.

"T-Tōshirō..."

The forboding sound of footsteps on gravel, then dirt, then wooden planks.

"I-I'm cumming... Ich-Ichigo!"

"I... love you."

I came just as three sharp knocks sounded. I gritted my teeth and tried to hold back my cries, but I only succeeded in letting a small squeak through. Ichigo pounded my ass two or three more times before I could feel his hot seed sear through my insides. He held in his noise, possibly out of fear of embarrassing himself in front of a prestigious senator. I felt no such fear. They'd already taken everything I had to offer.

_"Hitsugaya Tōshirō, you are surrounded. Come out of the house, unarmed, with Kurosaki Ichigo. I repeat, you are surrounded."_

He pulled out of me, doing up his trousers and readjusting his limp member. He reached onto the floor and began to pull his shirt around him. I did the same, not knowing what else to do. Helplessness and uncertainty ran through my body. Our chests heaved simultaneously - rose in large chokes and fell with some kind of strangled sob. This was it. It was over. I never thought it would hurt so much.

"You ready?" I whispered.

"No," he said.

"Good; neither am I." I held my hand out for him and he took it. Together, in a mist of sadness and confusion and pain, we walked out into the bleeding night._**___**  
><strong>___**_

* * *

><p>I'd sort of hoped that I'd be given a few seconds of freedom. It didn't seem like a lot to ask for just two or three moments to breath in the cool air, to stare longingly after the birds; to grasp Ichigo's hand for those last seconds before we were separated. I was granted no such luxury. The sensation of tearing filled every fibre of my being. I blinked once before I realised that it was Ichigo being torn away from my grasp and pulled into the arms of an old, goat-faced man who had a thick jaw and a stubbly chin - his father, no doubt. The man hugged him hard from behind, trying to turn him around so he could bawl into his son's chest, but Ichigo seemed to blank him. His eyes widened impossibly, staring at me and saying so many words that went unsaid between us. <em>I love you. I miss you. Why aren't you in my arms? <em>The chocolate of his eyes seemed to melt, his lips parted as though he wanted to kiss me. I stared back at him, trying to keep my expression impassive when all I wanted to do was run into his arms. _I love you, Ichigo. _I could have said the words, and I fully planned to... when his gaping mouth shut slowly and pressed into a tight line, . His eyes hardened, suddenly devoid of any emotion. Handcuffs snapped around my wrists. I ignored the cold and blinked at him. That wasn't the Ichigo I knew. It was as though the entire thing had been an act, that he had faked any feelings for me in order to survive. Because, after all, I was just his kidnapper. That's all I'd be to his father and his family and the news, so why should I be anything different to him?

"Hitsugaya Tōshirō, ya're under arrest for th' planned murder of Emperor Yamamoto. Ya have th' right to an attorney an' the right ta remain silent. Anythin' ya say c'n be used against ya in court."

I didn't bother looking behind me, just grinned like a man with three mental disorders and a bullet wound.

"Detective Ichimaru, how's life being a dead man?"

The supposedly felled man probably grinned behind me. "Dontcha worry ya're pretty lil' head, Hitsugaya-gunsō," he whispered into my ear. "Leave this ta me, hnn?"

I didn't bother dwelling upon that, just continued to grin as a dead man towed me away from the rotting house and the rotting dog.

The cocking of a gun perked my ears up, and I watched the blind penguin I'd met a few weeks ago aim at me almost perfectly with Hyōrinmaru. To murder a man with his own gun was blasphemy. My opinion dropped lower than I thought possible. If he could see he would have seen the murder in my eyes, the pure hatred I now felt for him. Sirens blared and more white vans pulled up into the drive as news reporters flooded out in their hundreds, but they were nothing but white noise to me. I glared at the blind man, sneering at him and trying to avoid tripping over my feet. I was steered away towards a police car, Aizen himself holding the door open for me. A final act of courtesy.

"You didn't have to shoot my dog, did you?" Was my only greeting. The man only offered a languid blink then nodded once and I was pushed by the head into the car. The door shut behind me before I had readjusted myself and I then found out how difficult trying to sit upright in a car with handcuffs is. I shuffled a few times, feeling somewhat indignant when I wasn't tall enough to look out of the window. I craned my neck and was greeted by the blinding lights of SLR cameras, all trying to capture the perfect picture of the man who tried to assassinate the Emperor. It wasn't them I looked at though. Over all their heads I could see an orange mop, stretching himself so he could see into the car. His poker face wasn't long lived, for that look of worry was back on his face and it was strong as ever.

I wasn't allowed a second to look at him. Aizen and Ichimaru were already in the car and it was pulling away.

_I'm gonna miss this place._

_Thanks for the ride, Ichigo. It was fun while it lasted._

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><p><em><strong>Hmm, kay. That was longer than I expected~ One more chapter of this left (Or two, depending on how long this ends up...)<strong>_

_**Review please? ^^**_


	9. Chapter 8

_**WOW HOW MUCH GROVELLING DO I OWE YOU GUYS HOW LONG DID I LEAVE FOR LIKE A MONTH OR SOMETHING? Okay yeah it's been a year. I am SO sorry, you can't even understand. It took me way too long to figure out what I was going to do with this and by the time I was ready to write it exams came along and bitch-slapped me. I hope this makes a good conclusion for you all :)**_

_**I have no idea what goes on in a courtroom so you'll have to allow for the fact that it won't make too much sense and would almost certainly be different in Japan. I only vaguely know the British legal system and I didn't really understand anything Google told me.**_

_**The song is 'Go Your Own Way' by Fleetwood Mac, covered by Lissie.**_

* * *

><p><em>Loving you isn't the right thing to do.<em>

_How can I ever change things that I feel?_

_If I could, maybe I'd give you my world._

_How can I when you won't take it from me?_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 8<strong>_

_-ICHIGO-_

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><p>"Son, we need to dress you up more often. You look pretty smart in a bowtie."<p>

Dad did this sort of awkward patting thing on my collarbone when he realised that he'd been messing with this apparently smart bowtie for the past three minutes. He disguised it as a final tweak to the thing. I knew he just didn't want to let go yet.

I looked down from the mirror and let a forced smile come upon my face. "Maybe next time it'll be in better circumstances." I twisted round then to look at him. His eyes were tired from stress and insomnia, and it hurt to know I was the one who did that to him. I had the urge to hug him then, but I guess I was still a teenager. I petted his arm in a teenagerly way. "I'm sorry."

His weary eyes softened for a moment and I thought he was going to cry, but within the same instant he put on that faux grin and punched me playfully(ish) in the shoulder. "No worries, son! We're just gonna make sure that Hitsugaya gets locked up, right?"

_Insert frown. _It had been nearly a week since I'd last seen Tōshirō. Maybe longer. We'd been kept apart for longer than I'd even known him and the longing I felt was manifesting into a physical pain. Some sick part of me told my brain that I should be feeling excited; I was finally going to see him after all this time. The more logical part of me noted that the criminal court wasn't the best place for a heartfelt reunion.

"He didn't do it, you know." I stepped back and brushed off my jacket one more time. The entire scenario felt oddly surreal. I wasn't a _suit and tie _kind of person, and a month ago I wouldn't have thought I would be a 'defending the guy who sort-of-not-really kidnapped me' kind of person either, but I guess Tōshirō Hitsugaya had a way of changing you. I stood before my father with fists clenched by my side and jaw locked tight - trying to fruitlessly save this man I had known for a week. "I mean, isn't that why I'm going to court? I'm a _witness_, Dad. I'm here to provide evidence."

His nose inflated a little, like it does when he gets mad. But he isn't mad, not really. "You're there to answer the questions they ask you. If they don't ask you to provide evidence then you aren't going to." He scratched his head. "And the only evidence you're giving is that you've seen that CCTV footage, right? It's nothing to jury won't see anyway. You're only there so they can accuse him of _something_, Ichigo."

"What can they accuse him of?" I made some sort of wild gesture to prove my point. "I'm nineteen, Dad! It wasn't kidnap. I already told the police I went with him of my own accord."

"_Look._" He strode forward and placed both hands on my shoulders. "I get that he didn't kidnap you and if what you're telling me is true then he probably didn't attempt an assassination on the Emperor. But he's still the man who took my son away from me and his arguments are gonna be pretty futile when you put him against Sōsuke. So pardon me for being sceptical." His head drooped and his shoulders shook. "I really missed you, kid. I'm just... I'm glad you're back."

_Fuck being a teenager. _I pulled him into a hug and waited his sobs out. They were thick and palpable, and made something in my stomach turn. I'd left him for a week. I'd been off on a twisted sort of adventure and it was only now hitting me that I had a family back home who were waiting for me. People had probably assumed that I was the one suffering, that I was been held hostage by a mad sniper who wouldn't let me go. Nobody ever thought of the family, huddled around a phone waiting for _something_. Even a blunt 'He's dead' is better than hours upon fucking hours of waiting.

"I'm really sorry, Dad. So sorry." I couldn't quite bring myself to cry, not just yet. But I was close. My voice cracked as I said the words. I buried my head in his shoulder in a way I hadn't let myself do since Mom died. Then, he'd been comforting me. Now the tables were turned I wasn't sure what to even do. But I had to try. He was still my father, and I wondered if sometimes I took that for granted.

I gave him a minute longer before shaking his dead-weight body to remind him that we had to leave. He gave one last sniff and wiped his nose on the back of his hand (depositing the waste onto the sofa arm, which I mentally reminded myself to scrub later). He remained silent while we walked outside, new shoes squeaking uncomfortable along the tarmac. It was an unbelievably hot day; made me stumble a little when I walked straight into the wall of hot air. I sort of wished it would rain, despite the imminent drowned-rat look I would saunter into a court of law with.

Dad turned around and faced me, fist-pumping the air in a way which was much too forced to be natural. But that was Dad through and through.

"Alright, boy!" His conviction was impressive. "Let's go kick some courtroom ass!"

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><p>I'd been in a courtroom before. Considering my dad worked for these people, his enthusiasm knew no bounds and he excitedly took me to see my first hearing as soon as I'd been allowed. Granted, that was a simple Magistrates' Court and the crime was more of a disturbance than an actual criminal offence. It had felt more like a concrete square with seats than any kind of courtroom. This was a whole different league. It was a lush room streaked with red and gold, mahogany pews and a chandelier which threatened to crush half the jury if they thought to stand up. This was the room you'd find in any Hollywood film, and walking into it felt more like a coronation than my entrance to testify against Tōshirō.<p>

Speak of the devil, there he sat. His height would have suggested that he was too small for the seat where he was placed, but he sat tall and looked perfectly at ease in his surroundings. It was disconcerting. Beside him was his attorney - a man rough of face who I could not recognise. I only hoped the man could see Tōshirō's innocence.

I took my place in one of the back seats and waited for the proceedings to begin. People were murmuring quietly to themselves, glancing at Tōshirō and pointing at Aizen. I was sort of glad that I was considered a primary witness (for reasons I was unsure of, considering I hadn't even been at the scene. Like Dad said, my being held 'hostage' would just give the jury _something _of which to accuse Tōshirō) because it meant that I could stay for the first part of the hearing. I'd have to leave once I'd said my part.

"All rise for the judge."

The initial preparations seemed to drag on for years. Tōshirō was accused of attempted assassination of the Emperor; how did Tōshirō plead? Tōshirō pleaded 'not guilty'. Tōshirō sat down. The prosecutor stood in place for the Emperor (who wasn't even brought into court as Tōshirō was considered 'too dangerous' for them to be within the same room) and recited the case in her brittle, nasal voice. To give her credit, she did not outright blame Tōshirō and highlighted the fact that the evidence was still unclear. Though it did nothing to calm my nerves or slow my heartbeat. When she had finished, she asked permission to call a witness to the stand. Tōshirō moved to the stand.

"I swear by the bible that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."

As he settled into his seat, he glanced across the room before him and his ribcage blew out in a deep breath. His voice hadn't shaken, his hands remained steady but when his eyes locked with mine I could see the fear in them. This wasn't just a courtroom - this was a battle. This was a battle he had no chance of winning… but if he was going down then he was going down with a fight. I kept his gaze for a few more precious seconds, just a few where I could feel every worry about today seeping into my very core. This wasn't even anxiety, this was full-blown panic because he couldn't afford to lose and yet it was all he could do.

The prosecutor adjusted her glasses upon her nose and coughed once before speaking. "Hitsugaya-san, can you confirm to us that in Tokyo on February 21st?"

"Yes."

She made some sort of satisfied noise. "And can you confirm for the jury where you were exactly at the time?"

Tōshirō's jaw visibly clenched. This case had nothing in his favour. She didn't even have to be clever about this and nobody was going to testify against the emperor.

"We require an answer, Hitsugaya-san. And remember you are under oath."

His nostrils flared. If he was doing this, he wasn't doing it on someone else's watch. "Frankly that is quite a terrible question for you to ask," he smirked. "I was in many places on February 21st. The majority involved underpasses and alleyways as I tried to dodge that man's idio-"

"_Hitsugaya-san._" The judge's voice echoing through the room halted Tōshirō's words instantly. "You are here to provide evidence for your case, _not _for you to prove your smarm. Now _answer the question._"

His lips pursed and he threw his gaze towards the judge, glowering so deeply that the stout man squirmed a little in his seat. "Tokyo City Hall."

"And can you confirm where the Emperor was located at this time?"

The whole exchange seemed very patronising in her favour, and the quick glance to the ceiling from Tōshirō told me that he was feeling the same sentiment. "He was at Shinjuku Central Park."

"Would you say that your capabilities as a sniper would allow you to brutally murder an unsuspecting emperor from that distance?"

I stared at her in disbelief. That hardly seemed like a question worded well. There was providing biased opinions and there was doing her job - and that hardly seemed like the latter.

Tōshirō arched a thin brow at her, an action she reciprocated. "Well though I most definitely did not shoot the emperor, yes I would say my 'capabilities' would allow me to do such a thing." He then turned to Aizen. "Though, if your prosecutors would just pull their heads out of their asses for a moment then they'd see that the evidence suggests-"

"_**Hitsugaya-san!**__" _The judge's voice made me jump this time. "This is not a time for your comments."

Tōshirō cocked his head and pulled his mouth into a one-sided smirk. "But your honour, I am simply stating the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."

That did earn him a few low chuckles from the pews, but not one for me. Any other day I would have been glad for him to have pulled a one-liner like that. But today? Too much was at stake. This venting was just turning the jury against him, making them believe he was guilty and uncaring of today's outcome. My heart clenched and unclenched painfully at the thought of what would happen if the jury considered him a joke, a fake; guilty of the crime of which he was accused. I didn't want the last time I saw him to be in handcuffs, for armed men to lead him away. And it's not like prison would take him. There's only one price big enough for the emperor's life and that's a price I'm not willing to be paid.

The prosecutor removed her glasses from her hooked nose and peered at Tōshirō with something like curiosity. "Can you please state for the jury what your business was at Tokyo City Hall while the Emperor was at Shinjuku Central Park?"

Tōshirō remained silent. It wasn't a nervous silence but simply a quiet evaluation of options. Though, there were hardly many options to evaluate. After all, he swore upon the bible. His eyes briefly met mine, and I gave him a small head shake. The action wasn't returned, but I could feel the weight of his gaze telling me everything I needed to know. _There was only one thing to do_. And I hoped to hell he wouldn't do it.

"I was there to shoot the Emperor."

Had it been some exaggerated crime show, the whole jury may have gasped in horror and tittered away, but the only reaction was a slight murmur of confusion. I glanced to the side where I saw Aizen, brow furrowed imperceptibly and lip twitching in a mix of annoyance and uncertainty.

The prosecutor's head cocked. "Hitsugaya-san, is this a confession?"

"Not at all. I mean, I did… though it was purely hypothetical." His eyes swept the room with a gravity so strong that people noticeably shrank in their seats. "If the jury would allow it, there is a long tale to tell of why I was there and how I was framed."

"Hitsugaya-san-" the prosecutor's voice trembled. She was inexperienced; nobody had bothered to get a competent man for the job considering it wasn't even supposed to be a job. There shouldn't have been anything in his favour. "You are required to answer my question-"

"And I shall if you allow me to speak. I believe I have the right to a fair trial and your ignorance on the topic leads me to believe that you are not very well equipped for this job. You asked me why I was there and the answer requires a rather long story, one I would be willing to divulge if you would so kindly allow it." Tōshirō waited a few seconds, checking for any sign of negation, and when none was given he continued. "I was contacted by Sōsuke Aizen roughly one month before the Emperor was scheduled to arrive in Shinjuku where he told me that they had been warned of an attempt on the Emperor's life. Aizen approached me and asked me to plan out an assassination on the Emperor. His logic was that if I could plan out an assassination, it would give an idea of what the so-called assassin would do and then the attempt could be intercepted." He scratched his neck. "Clearly I had some reservations about the validity of this but in all honesty I was bored and it sounded interesti-"

"That is enough, Hitsugaya-san!" the prosecutor cried out, desperation laced in her voice. "Your honour, I have finished asking Hitsugaya-san questions." The jury mumbled and I watched Aizen visibly slump in his seat. Beaming, I fought to squirm. He'd hired an idiot. It seemed fit that overconfidence was Aizen's only shortcoming.

Tōshirō cocked a thin brow. "I hadn't finished my tale of woe and heartbreak but sure." He moved away from the stand and sat down next to his attorney, whose face remained stoic.

"Your honour," the beaked woman's voice quivered, "I would like to present some CCTV evidence pertaining to the case."

The judge allowed it with an exasperated kind of acquiescence and gestured for a man to bring down a projector screen. The atmosphere was tense as a projector was wheeled in and man from forensics brought a VCR tape in a Ziploc bag.

"We would like to present to the jury the CCTV footage taken from the crime scene." She pressed a button on a small remote and the film began.

I frowned. _Hang on a minute._

It was actually Tōshirō walking onto screen, the real sniper walking up to the window and setting up the rifle. I watched in absolute amazement at the raw footage being screened to the entire courtroom. Glancing over at Aizen, I saw his eyes slowly widen when he realised what was happening. He stood; jaw slack and hands tremulous. I looked over at Tōshirō, watched his stony face and took note of the lack of feeling on it. Shouldn't he look hopeful? They'd gotten the wrong file, they'd shown the original and now all the odds were in his favour. The image crackled and everybody in the room saw Aizen point a handgun to Tōshirō's brow.

"Stop the tape!" Aizen cried, his voice breaking.

"The prosecution rests!" His prosecutor hollered simultaneously, running for the projector. It was too late, though. There was a concurrent gasp as Tōshirō crashed through the window.

The screen turned blank and a monumental silence lingered in the room. People's breath seemed to be caught in their throat, no-one daring to pierce the thin veil of quiet. After an eternity, the judge coughed and gestured for someone to take the projector away, and the screen was rolled back up. Aizen seemed to be steaming in his seat, and he looked like a young child about to embark upon a temper tantrum. He no longer seemed like a scary politician, and I didn't fear the outcome anymore because _surely _the jury must find Tōshirō innocent.

In my excitement, I missed all the formalities and only realised that Tōshirō was back at the stand when the defence attorney began speaking.

"Hitsugaya-san, if you would care to continue your explanation from your previous 'saga', as you put it."

Tōshirō smirked that lopsided, pearly-white smirk I hadn't known I'd missed. "Glad to."

The prosecutor sank down to avoid Aizen's fiery glare. She failed.

"I scouted the area around Shinjuku for around a week or so to determine the best place for an assassination to occur, and on the day of the Emperor's speech I was greeted with a surprisingly warm welcome in the place we had agreed was best. So I set up and essentially confirmed that, yes, this would be a good place to shoot an emperor. So, lo and behold, I had a gun to my head and was told to shoot the emperor."

"And how did you react to this?"

"I shot a banner next to the emperor and was shot out of the window in return. I have a lovely scar on my shoulder to prove it, if you like?"

"We'll take your word for it." The attorney straightened his jacket. "So would you say that this was a… set up?"

"Yes."

"What leads you to believe that?"

"What, you mean apart from the fact that I was shot out of a third-storey window?" Tōshirō snorted. "Well, the apparent message informing Aizen that the Emperor was going to be shot was received a month prior to the Emperor's speech - which was enough time for them to conveniently hail me, get me to Tokyo and have me scout the place out. Also, one month is a very long time to have been warned of an assassination - a real one might have given them an hour's notice and most. And I might have to blame my own excitement for this, but they kept me in that room well into the Emperor's speech which honestly shouldn't have been done if they had suspicions of a crazed assassin being in that very room."

Tōshirō seemed to have said his piece for now, and if I wasn't afraid of being violently '_shush'_ed then I might have breathed a sigh of relief. All my pessimism seemed to have drifted away, possibly into the mind of Sōsuke Aizen. We were winning; against all odds we were winning.

The attorney faced the judge and spoke. "We have evidence complying with my client's story." A clear, Ziploc bag was brought to the front which contained a cell phone. "Hitsugaya-san took a picture of Aizen's car when he was at Hitsugaya-san's house. There is enough scenery around the image to confirm its location." The phone was passed around the jury and the judge, who each nodded and hummed in turn. "We can also confirm the date as to when the image was taken to be one month prior the Emperor's speech."

"This is an _outrage!_" The cry came from the pews. Aizen was stood, purple-faced and pointing an accusing finger Tōshirō's way. "It didn't- this doesn't prove anyth-"

"_Aizen-sama._" The judge's voice boomed across the room, and even after a third time when the man raised his voice everyone in the room felt that little more inadequate and small. "I expected insolence from Hitsugaya-san but may I remind you that your attorney has rested her case and you have no room to speak unless brought to the stand. Now _sit down._"

Aizen glowered at the man as though he was considering murder then slowly seated himself next to the attorney; a woman had never looked more fearful for her life.

When the phone was passed back to the forensics person, Tōshirō was told he could leave and his attorney asked permission to bring another witness. He was granted it.

"I call Gin Ichimaru to the stand."

I didn't recall Tōshirō telling me about an Ichimaru, and when a silver haired man with a Cheshire grin sauntered towards the stand I only vaguely recognised him as the man who arrested Tōshirō. People in the pews and on the jury seemed to be speaking in quiet susurrations amongst themselves, glancing confusedly between Ichimaru, Aizen and Tōshirō. Tōshirō himself did not react, however. He made eye contact with Ichimaru instead, who gave no noticeable reaction other than maintaining a weighted kind of eye contact. I was becoming incessantly curious about all the silent conversations occurring at once, for _I_ saw no reason for confusion. He must have something to do with Aizen, right? Ichimaru then turned his head towards me, and through squinted eyes somehow managed a wink. He then settled behind the stand and looked so at ease that I wondered just how many times he'd stood there before.

After he swore on the bible, the attorney began his interrogation. "Ichimaru-san, can you confirm for the jury what your role in this whole debacle was?"

"That I c'n." The look he sent Aizen was none other than the look of a traitor, a man who never had any intention of abiding by the rules of his superior and had only the intention of leaving the man out to dry. "I was one o' th' men who came ta inform Hits'gaya-kun of Aizen-sama's plan, I was th' man who arrested Hits'gaya-kun 'nd I was th' man who was said ta've been shot by 'im."

"Could you please elaborate? As, according to record, you are dead."

_Oh. _

Ichimaru's smirk widened impossibly. "'ndeed. Aizen-sama wanted ta frame Hits'gaya-kun fer as much as he could, 'nd it wasn't like he could say th'emperor was dead, any'ne'd know it weren't true. So he 'ad 'em claim I was dead 'nd that Hits'gaya-kun 'ad shot me while I was guardin' th'emperor."

"And why did Aizen-sama seem so set upon framing Hitsugaya-san for the aforementioned crime?"

"Beats me." Shrug. "Ask 'im yerself. As far as I know, Hits'gaya-kun left th'army 'nd Aizen-sama was a lil' annoyed ta lose one o' his best snipers."

Frowning, I realised I'd never stopped to contemplate just _why _Tōshirō was in this mess. He'd been framed for a crime he didn't commit, but what did Aizen really gain out of this? The Emperor wasn't dead, so there didn't seem to be any material gain for him in blaming Tōshirō. So it was a personal vendetta. My jaw locked and nostrils flared. Of all people, I had never imagined Aizen Sōsuke to stoop so low as to petty revenge. Then again, who am I to impugn the motives of the great Aizen-sama?

Instead of listening to Ichimaru speak for the next few minutes, I allowed myself the indulgence of looking at Tōshirō, now the impending sense of finality was starting to dwindle. After an entire week of having not seen him, it felt like he was a completely different person; one I didn't know at all. I couldn't read any emotion from him. His brow was austere as ever and his mouth was pressed into a tight line which could have been repressed hope or annoyance but for the life in me I couldn't discern which one. I mean, he looked the same - his hair was still a white flurry and his eyes were still worthy of Photoshop - but there was something so incredibly different about _how he was_. His back was ramrod straight and his eyes were a little harder. What I had previously mistaken for comfort I now realised was an act, a method of conforming to these people's visions of him in order to survive. It reminded me a little of Stockholm syndrome, but instead of getting to know his captors he was submitting to their whims.

And then it occurred to me that he wasn't _Tōshirō _here. The man I knew was Tōshirō; the man sat in the pews was the man he thought they wanted him to be. Here, in a courtroom, he was the mentally ill delinquent who maybe tried to shoot the emperor.

When Ichimaru was sent away from the stand, Tōshirō didn't capture the man's gaze. Instead, he captured mine; teal eyes locked onto brown ones and for the first time in too long I saw flickers of the man I knew. His mouth softened a bit and he gave an infinitesimal nod. It spoke volumes.

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><p>I was never called to the stand in the end. I wasn't seen as relevant to the defence case.<p>

It didn't matter anyway, because the jury found Tōshirō innocent and Aizen was the one led away in handcuffs.

* * *

><p>In the end, Dad decided that we needed to gloss over the whole ordeal as best we could. By that, he meant we were moving house.<p>

His original plan had been to move half way across the country in hopes that a complete change of scenery would somehow make us forget everything that happened the past two months. It took a hunger strike and viewing a rundown house by the coast for us to convince him that it wasn't worth it. Yuzu had cried, Karin had yelled and I had explained as calmly as I could (which unfortunately resorted to physical violence) that I couldn't change Universities mid-term. Of course, this led to a heartfelt family conversation in which Dad poured his soul out and we reluctantly agreed to move five miles down town.

Before Mum had died, the Old Man had quite a low status in the government and the wage he and Mum collectively earned wasn't quite enough for us to afford a large house and the sentiment meant we had kept it all these years. But now with a wealthy wage and Karin working part-time, we could afford quite an upgrade. The new house had a significant sized garden for which Karin was pleased, and the kitchen had been modernised and had a working oven for which Yuzu was grateful. I gained a larger bedroom and allowed myself a change in decoration, but it wasn't exactly anything to scream about.

I found myself sat in my fancy new bedroom, slaving over an art history course for which I didn't care but unfortunately had to catch up on after my shenanigans. The doorbell rang.

Glad for some distraction from Heinrich Wölfflin who didn't appear to have painted a picture in his life, I bounded down the stairs and insisted that I would answer the door. I didn't really expect Tōshirō to be stood there in a pair of Khakis and a wife beater but I think I managed a greeting without stuttering too much.

"T-tōshirō! How did you even-" Okay so I lied.

A grin worth of Ichimaru pulled at his lips. "All the things you know me for and finding your new house is the one you choose to be shocked over? Wow, you barely know me at all."

My jaw fell slack and he stepped right past me, toeing his shoes off and glancing around the hallway.

"Yeah but… _how?_"

He wiped a finger down the newly painted walls. "Okay if this bothers you so much I highly advise you don't check your phone, email or bank account."

I stared at him and he stared at me, then we both dissolved into a fit of laughter. He doubled over himself, clutching at his stomach, hiccupping a little and not seeming the least bothered when his giggles turned into snorts or shrieks. It was so good to hear him laugh in a way I wasn't sure I'd heard it before, the way the chuckles rose up and escaped like he couldn't even stop them if he tried. And to be frank, I don't even think he wanted to. Eventually, the laughter died down and he looked at me, looking more content than I'd seen him and at the same time a little sad. I smiled, holding out a hand. He reached for it, walking towards me.

"You're not in prison," I noted matter-of-factly.

"Well done for noticing."

My arms found his waist. "Aizen is, though."

His arms found my shoulders. "Again, your observation is flawless."

I leaned my head down and bumped my nose against his, revelling in the small chuckle it elicited. He mimicked the action, but instead of pulling away I ducked down and pressed my lips against his. It didn't give the shock of our first kiss, nor was it quite so explicit, but instead I felt like I was coming home. The walls around me seemed to blossom into colour, emanating warmth and cosiness in a manner which I'd never even felt from the old house. Authors had always described home being a person, not a place; only now did I really get the meaning. Tōshirō's lips moving against mine made the few feet around us seem invisible, devoid of anything except the two of us. I tilted my nose a little but still never asked for more, because this moment was completely perfect.

"_EEEEEEEEEEEHHHH?_"

Okay nearly.

I pulled back quickly, ignoring the way Tōshirō's lips chased mine. Blood drained from my face.

"Yuzu-"

"_DAAADD!_" she shrieked and ran into the kitchen, holding her pinafore out of the way. "_ICHI-NII'S KISSING A BOY!_"

"_EEEEEEEEEEEHHHH?_"

"Oh my God." I groaned and pressed my forehead against Tōshirō's, too embarrassed to even laugh. "I am _so_ sorry about this."

Tōshirō saved me the hassle and chuckled himself. "Don't worry about it; I'm sure it's time I met the folks." He pressed one last kiss to my lips and whipped around just in time to meet a flustered Isshin Kurosaki pointing an accusing finger my way.

"What is this _blasphemy _I am hearing about my son kissing another boy?! I raised my son better than to cheat on the lovely Rukia-san!"

"Kurosaki-san." Tōshirō stalked forwards and held out a hand for Dad to take. "Tōshirō Hitsugaya, the man who sort-of-not-really kidnapped your son. I promise you it was completely his idea and was frowned upon by me."

Dad frowned at me, then frowned at Tōshirō, then graciously took Tōshirō's hand and shook it. "Welcome to our humble household, Hitsugaya-san. I am glad you returned our beloved boy to us in the end." He then glared right at me. "However _you_, mister, are going to be explaining this-" he gestured to Tōshirō and made an obscene kissing face "-tomfoolery to me."

"Did you really just say tomfoolery?"

"I can handle a gay son but how could you possibly _think_ about hurting the feelings of the charming, exquisite, fine specimen of a young woman who is Rukia-san?"

"I can assure you, Kurosaki-san," Tōshirō began, throwing a smirk back my way, "that Ichigo fully terminated any prior relationship with Rukia Kuchiki before there was any engaging in coitus."

"There was _COITUS?!_" And in an action worthy of an anime, my father fell to the floor and sobbed. "Oh, Masaki-chan! How has it come to this?! Our own son has become sexually active and with a _man _nonetheless! There will be no grandchildren! Who is going to carry on your beautiful genes, Masaki-chan? Who!"

It's shameful that I wasn't even surprised by the reaction. I took Tōshirō's hand and carefully stepped over the whimpering body. "Okay then, Old Man. Tōshirō and I'll be upstairs if you need us."

The man positively wailed. "Oh and now he is taking this young man into his _bedroom! _You will not christen this house when there are young children present!"

I pushed Tōshirō up the stairs and tried to ignore his growing snorts of laughter. "It's not funny in the slightest; that man is an embarrassment to this family."

"Oh now I wouldn't say that. Why, I can see the similarities already!"

I whacked the back of his head and steered him into my bedroom, locking the door behind us in the hopes to avoid any unwanted company. Stood in the middle of the room, Tōshirō twirled around in order to take it all in. His gaze landed on me, eyes bright and filled with humour.

"You have a very nice room, Ichigo - much larger than your old one."

I glanced around and nodded a bit in agreement. "Yeah, it is isn't it?" I then stalked forwards and proceeded to take advantage of the large space, picking Tōshirō up and gracelessly throwing him onto the bed where he landed without so much as a squeak. I slid up his body and went straight for the lips; pushing at them and feeling him return the fervour. His hands found my neck and pulled gently at my hair, his hips bucking up at the same time and an obscene moan filling my mouth. I was just ready to pull his shirt off when a pressing matter came to mind. "Wait… you haven't seen my old room?"

He grinned against my mouth. "Who the hell do you think bought your old house?"

* * *

><p>-<em>FIN-<em>

* * *

><p><em><strong>I don't even know how to feel about this. This was my first full length fanfic and now it's over I can't decide if I'm glad or sad. I guess a bit of both.<strong>_

_**This story means such a great deal to me and I'm really glad I got such a response from it. I've learned a lot about writing from making it and I think I'm going to remember this story for a while now.**_

_**Thank you all for reading and reviewing and favouriting and just being the greatest people I could ever have the pleasure of hearing from.**_


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